


Only A Paper Moon

by Lintelomiel



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Language, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Smoking, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:33:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lintelomiel/pseuds/Lintelomiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ennis and Jack’s last fishing trip, which ends on a bad note, Jack puts forth an ultimatum that forces Ennis to make a difficult choice, and changes the course of their relationship for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 7x7

**Author's Note:**

> Songmix here: http://8tracks.com/pilgrimskiss/only-a-paper-moon

_Love is a sweet flower, but one must have the courage to pluck it on the edges of a terrible cliff._  
~ Stendhal  
  
*

“You want the last sip a whiskey, bud?”

Jack shook his head, not taking his eyes off the dying fire at their feet. “It’s all yours.”

Ennis knocked back the last mouthful of what had been a full bottle of Old Rose whiskey earlier that night, tossed the empty bottle away and stretched himself with a yawn, joints snapping audibly. He felt good, content even. The alcohol and the joint he and Jack had shared earlier had given him a pleasant buzz, enough to dim those thoughts of _last night together, last night together_ to a faint nagging feeling at the back of his head, nothing that couldn’t be ignored for the time being. His mind was fuzzy and his dick rock hard in his pants, had been for the past thirty minutes or so. Not bad, for a guy almost in his forties.

Ennis glanced at Jack-- tall body folded up in that little camping chair, jean-clad legs spread wide as usual, flames licking at his boot heel. The collar of his quilted winter coat was pulled up against the mountain’s chill and the brim of his fancy black Resistol tipped low over his forehead, concealing most of his face. Still, Ennis did not need to see that face to know that Jack’s spirits had plummeted; after sixteen years of fishing trips, he knew the look by heart. Only one more night together before they parted ways again, before they headed back to Riverton and Childress respectively to continue living their separate and unsatisfactory lives and start counting down the days ‘till the next fishing trip. Ennis bore it with the resignation of a man who knows that what can’t be fixed must be endured, but Jack, never one to hide his feelings, always got real quiet and dejected those last few hours by the campfire.

Ennis worked his tongue in his mouth for a moment, turned to the side to spit on the ground. With his right foot he poked at the logs, causing sparks to fly. “Fire’s goin’ out, bud,” he said, speaking the words that had become a code phrase long ago. _Time to hit the sack, fuck, spoon and sleep, in that order._

Still not looking up, Jack nodded slightly and brought his cigarette to his lips. “You go along. I’ll be right behind.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Ennis pushed himself out of his chair and stumbled to the tent, throwing one more glance back at Jack before he went in. The sight of Jack sitting there so forlorn, dark silhouette outlined by the fire, twisted his gut in an unpleasant way and he felt a familiar sting of guilt, because he knew all too well that Jack’s hunched shoulders were his doing entirely. After turning him away that fatal day, when Jack had driven fourteen hours straight for nothing, Ennis had seen Jack become a little sadder every year, the light in his eyes dying bit by bit in spite of the good times they still had together. To feel the old Jack slowly slipping away from him tore Ennis apart inside but he did not know what to do about it except to try and make their sparse time together as good for Jack as possible-- which was exactly what he had done this week and what he planned to do tonight.

 _But you still haven’t told him,_ a nasty little voice reminded him, not for the first time that night. _He still doesn’t know about August._

He undressed quickly and made himself comfortable beneath the blankets, remembering to put the tube of KY at the ready for later. It was always Jack who remembered to bring along stuff like that, and although Ennis didn’t much like the idea of Jack going into a store and buying supplies of lube, he was glad that Jack had never asked him to do it.

Once everything in the tent was ready for some good old-fashioned screwing, Ennis lay down on his back and waited, with barely contained impatience, for Jack to join him. It was unusual that they came to the tent separately and it was not lost on Ennis that this was exactly how Jack had been waiting for him almost twenty years ago, that sultry night up on Brokeback that had changed the course of Ennis’s life for good. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember how the first touch of Jack’s lips had felt, still feel that thrill of first contact, lips and tongue and hands igniting a spark Ennis hadn’t known he carried inside himself. He knew he ought to feel sorry he ever set foot in that tent, sorry he’d failed to resist whatever it was that pulled him to Jack so strongly, but truth was-- he couldn’t, not really, although God knew he’d tried. The pitiful truth was that every single sin – and they had committed many that night – had felt like a piece of Heaven in itself, his heart falling wide open under Jack’s ministrations. It was one of his fondest memories, practically untainted by the ever-present feelings of guilt and shame that had cast their shadow over almost all of their moments together.

Finally Ennis heard the outer tent flaps being pushed aside and zipped up, and other such familiar sounds as Jack took off his boots and came crawling into the small nylon space they had been sharing for the past seven nights. It was the irony of his life that of all the houses Ennis had ever lived in, nothing had come closer to being a home than this, a 7x7 shared with Jack somewhere on a mountain in the middle of nowhere.

“Hey,” Jack said when he saw that Ennis was in the nude. “It’s only been a few minutes, Ennis, and already you got started without me?”

“Just thought I’d save us the trouble, is all,” Ennis said, leaning up on one elbow and reaching out to pull Jack closer. “C’mere now, cowboy.”

The spark that was always there between them flared to life quickly, as it always did once Ennis felt comfortable enough to let his body run full-throttle. Their mouths came together easy, noses turning just the right way, tongues greeting each other like old friends. Unbuttoning Jack’s shirt-- Ennis could do that blindfolded too, although his hands started to shake a bit when Jack yanked the blankets aside and took him in a double-handed grip, spitting in his palm to create a smoother slide.

“Christ, Jack, slow down,” Ennis grated out as he pulled at Jack’s shirt hard, desperate to get to what was underneath. “Gonna go off in a moment you keep this up, and you still got yer pants on.”

Jack chuckled and moved his hands away, but not before he’d given one last, teasing pull. “What got you so worked up, Del Mar?” With one powerful sweep of the arms his t-shirt was up and away over his head, hands moving to unbuckle next.

Ennis watched as Jack got rid of his jeans, then seized him by the hips and pulled him on top of him. “Dunno. Everythin’, I guess. The booze, smokin’ that joint, your fine ass.” He leaned closer to lick a hot line across Jack’s chest. “Been watchin’ you all day, Jack.”

“That so, Ennis?”

“Yeah,” Ennis said breathless, sneaking a glance up at Jack. Still one hell of a fine-looking man at thirty-eight, despite the few extra pounds that had settled on his hips, the lines in his face that betrayed he wasn’t a young buck no more. Still had a head full of hair, and although grey was coming in at his temples it still fell across his forehead in that same boyish manner, the look of that making Ennis feel all soft inside for some reason.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout what we would be doin’ tonight,” he added, writhing a bit so that his dick slid up against Jack’s thigh, leaving a tiny trail of wet on his skin.

“And what’s that?”

“Will show ya.” With a quick move born from practice, Ennis flipped Jack over on his back and, pulling up his hands over his head, pinned him to the ground as he leaned down to brush his lips over Jack’s nipple, swirl it with his tongue. Jack sucked in a breath, pushed up his hips against Ennis’s, seeking that first brush of cock that always had them panting.

“Want you to tell me,” he whispered. “C’mon. Wanna hear it from your mouth, Ennis.”

Ennis faltered ever so briefly. Talking dirty was not a strength of his, but this was a last night and Ennis was willing to do just about anything on them last nights; anything to take their minds off tomorrow, the long empty months stretching out before them, anything to soften the pain of yet another week come to an end too soon, much too soon.

So Ennis brought his mouth to Jack’s, ran his tongue over the lower lip, slid inside, kissed him deep and slow. “Gonna make you feel good, Jack,” he murmured. “Gonna fuck ya way you like to be fucked, do it slow ‘n nice. Gonna make ya cry my name ‘till you’re hoarse.”

“Shit.” Jack’s features were slack with lust and wanting. “More, tell me more.”

Ennis scooted down Jack’s body, keeping his eyes on the graceful curve of hard flesh against Jack’s belly. Of all the things Jack had taught him over the years, this had provided the greatest challenge. Took him a long time to work up the nerve to take Jack’s dick in his mouth, longer even to see it all the way through and swallow, the way Jack had done right from the beginning. Part of Ennis had been disgusted by the idea, because if sucking cock wasn’t queer then what was, but it didn’t seem fair to not put out when he knew how good it felt to be on the receiving end, so he had made a true effort to master the skill-- and actually started liking it. Talking about it, though, was another thing.

“Gonna make ya come, Jack,” he said, trying to sound confident even though he was blushing. “Gonna suck ya real good.”

“Jesus.” Jack bit his lip. “Gonna come just from hearin’ ya talk like that, Ennis.” He sucked in a breath when Ennis’s work-roughened hand closed around him, then exhaled when Ennis started taking him into his mouth, and propped himself up to watch. Lust crackled between them like lightning when Ennis twisted his neck in a near impossible angle to meet Jack’s eyes, holding his gaze as he moved up and down slow, deliberate, wanting Jack to see it all, to imprint this image in his mind, savor it in the long months to come.

“Christ, Ennis,” Jack said, trembling. “Got any idea how fuckin’ hot that is?”

“Mmm,” Ennis replied, letting almost all of Jack slip out of his mouth. He rubbed the crown with his tongue, sucking hard until Jack’s hips were jerking wildly, head thrashing as cries of _“ohgodohgodennisjesusfuck!”_ and other such profanities spilled from his mouth, Jack never one to hold back in that respect. Hell, Jack never one to keep his mouth shut.

Ennis sat up, scrabbling for the tube-o-lube while Jack whimpered with frustration. Ennis was back on him quick, fingers slicked up good, nudging between Jack’s thighs, pushing in slow, probing, twisting and rubbing until Jack was thrashing on the bedroll, pushing himself into Ennis’s mouth in sync with the strokes of Ennis’s fingers, breath coming in fast, short pants.

“Oh... yeah... Ennis... God... fuck... that’s good... so... fucking... good...”

Words eventually became unintelligible moans, pushing became frantic thrusting, Jack fucking Ennis’s mouth in hard, full strokes. Ennis grunted with the pleasure and the torture of it, Jack in his mouth and in his lungs and in his every fiber, this here connection between them so strong that even twenty years of shame and fear could not break it. What two nineteen-year-olds had started up on Brokeback two decades ago was still here, flame still burning bright and strong despite the years of hurt, anger and disappointment so bitter that all the whiskey in the world could not wash the taste off his tongue.

“Ennis! Oh God...”

Jack bucked like a bronco, Ennis sucking him off with closed eyes, not moving away until he was truly and completely done.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Jack panted. “Ennis...”

Ennis sat up, hands shaking bad as he prepared himself for entry, his dick feeling like a locked and loaded rifle ready to go off. Reached out to stop Jack when he started to turn around, preparing to get up on hands and knees. “No, Jack. Wanna see yer face.”

Jack bit his lip when Ennis started that familiar, languorous push-and-pull motion that was the essence of their relationship, a constant factor throughout all of their sparse moments together. This was the rhythm to which their hearts had started beating one cold, moonlit night some twenty years ago - frost in the ground but their bodies in that grimy tent creating a heat neither of them had known or even dreamed of before then - on that mountain that had since become an icon to them, the alpha and the omega, the symbol of everything they held dear; and whose name they rarely spoke aloud these days.

They kissed deep, with lots of tongue, and Ennis tried his damnedest to go slow, make the moment last, but found it damn near impossible with Jack moaning like that, surging up to him like that. He was even hard again, like when they were nineteen and going at it all the time like bucks in rut. And damn if that chatterbox Twist wasn’t flapping his mouth again, chanting Ennis’s name like some fucking mantra, begging him to go harder, faster, that foul-mouthed sonofabitch. And fact was, no one did begging better than Jack Twist, with that dirty mouth and those _fuck me_ eyes.

Thinking back on the summer of 1963, first thing Ennis saw was those eyes. Bright blue eyes watching him, body clad in equally blue denim draped all nonchalant over that black CMC. Under such open scrutiny, Ennis’d felt his insides crawl up tight. He’d never liked being gaped at, and was thankful for his hat, hiding his eyes underneath the brim. He felt discomfited by the stranger with the black Stetson, wasn’t too sure about being teamed up with him at first, but later on, sharing a few beers and a lighter in the bar, Ennis had been reassured some. That Twist fella seemed cordial enough; yapped a whole lot more than Ennis would have liked, so Ennis figured he was going to have to do a whole lot of listening in the months to come, but that was okay. Hell, listening to others talk was what Ennis del Mar did best.

They’d had a bit of a slow start. Wasn’t like Ennis to lay down his life’s story for any guy who happened to share his campfire, and he spent those first days setting up the routine in camp, tending to his chores and trying to figure out the phenomenon that was Jack Twist. The guy was a mystery; claimed to have been raised in a hellhole called Lightning Flat, the only child of a loving, but helpless mother and a father who made sure Jack was hardly ever without the bruises that were meant to remind him of exactly how big a disappointment he was to his daddy. After only a few days on the mountain, Ennis had been shown all the old scars left behind by the belt buckle old man Twist had wielded with such ardor, had been told all the stories too. But the years of oppression and abuse at his father’s hands had done nothing to diminish Jack’s ambition of achieving something, that boy’s head and mouth full of the plans he had for the future, the prizes he hoped to win riding those bulls, the acres of land he intended to own one day and the ranch he would call home, with a shitload of cattle and chickens and a goddamn dog called Murphy.

“Murphy?” Ennis’d said, frowning at his coffee cup.

“Yeah,” Jack’d said softly. “We useta have a dog a that name when I was little.”

No more information had been offered, but the melancholy tone of Jack’s voice had told Ennis enough-- this dog Murphy had been dear to Jack, possibly the only friend he’d ever had.

Wasn’t often Jack got downhearted, though. Shit-eating grin plastered to his face almost all the time, except when he got to bitching about whatever happened to get his dander up-- Joe Aguirre, pup tents, the cold, the humidity, that feisty mare, their monotonous diet of beans and spuds, the list went on and on. Ennis learned to accept it as a part of Jack’s character, to be ready for the complaining to start the moment Jack came riding into camp in the mornings. It seemed to be Jack’s way of getting his grievances out of his system and he usually cheered up soon enough, helped by a few cups of the fresh coffee Ennis made sure was waiting for him every morning.

“Friend, that’s some kick-ass coffee you make,” Jack’d said one of the first days, rewarding Ennis with a pearly-white smile of gratitude, to which Ennis had responded with a shrug and a noncommittal grunt, wondering what the big deal was. Anybody could make coffee, couldn’t they?

The brew he found in the coffeepot a few weeks later, reporting for breakfast after his first night with the sheep, proved him wrong. Jack’s coffee was disgusting, but Ennis did not want to hurt Jack’s feelings and gulped it all down without complaint. No, the gift of cooking wasn’t something the good Lord had bestowed on Jack Twist, in fact there was a whole bunch of things Jack wasn’t particularly good at, but that didn’t stop him from trying anyway. That was Jack. Couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, but damn if he didn’t play that harmonica every fucking day, the sound of it getting on Ennis’s nerves like nails on a blackboard. Jack. Lousiest shot Ennis had ever seen, but carried that rifle around like he was God’s greatest gift to cowboykind since canned beef. Jack. Had gotten it into his head to become some hot-shot bull rider, but got thrown at three seconds more often than not. Was actually proud of the scars some of those bulls had left on him, the damn fool. And that belt buckle he had won on what had probably been one of his better days was cherished like a memento, a fucking crown jewel.

He sure knew how to ride that horse though, no doubt about that. Sat in the saddle like he belonged there, never letting that mare get the better of him. He was pretty good with the lariat too, and had a sharp eye for the sheep, always the first to single out the sick and injured individuals. And when they embraced, that night they had shared the tent a second time, it no longer mattered that Jack was a second-rate bull rider at best, or that he served half-raw spuds and motor oil for coffee, or that he got silly like a school boy when he was drunk and could whine like one, too. The importance of all that quickly shrank to zero when Ennis found himself being cradled against the warm solidity that was Jack’s chest. Ennis, who hadn’t known a whole lot of love in his life, couldn’t remember the last time someone had held him like this, embraced him with such warmth and made him feel like he was worth it. At that moment, it didn’t even bother him that the body beneath his hands was that of a man, thoughts of sin and abomination far from his mind. That night, Ennis felt like he was being offered the world, a chance to breathe after a lifetime of choking. God help him, he took it. He took it, and even twenty years of living in constant fear could not make him regret that choice.

Jack’s mouth now open and panting, fingers tangled in Ennis’s hair, body rocking back and forth with the force of Ennis’s thrusts. The eye contact between them gave Ennis the final push, and he shoved deep with a long, low grunt that had Jack’s name in the center of it, the two of them climaxing almost simultaneously as, for one brief moment, all pieces fell into their rightful place.

Crazy, foolish, dear Jack. Cocky bastard. Ministering angel. High-voltage smile that could’ve turned fucking Casanova queer. Eyes the color of the sky over Brokeback and just as turbulent.

They may not have gotten anywhere, they may never have moved forward from when they were twenty-three and rekindling the flame with postcards and fishing trips-- but at least they had achieved this, a perfect physical understanding of each other, every touch knowing, giving pleasure, building up to that elusive moment of oblivion, where they could lose themselves in each other in a few blessed moments of guiltless, untainted ecstasy.

It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, but Ennis had learned long ago to settle for what life threw his way and not ask for more. It was hard though; got a little harder every time, the weeks becoming shorter, the time in between stretching out longer and longer. Ennis knew that next time they saw each other, they would be thirty-nine, Jack’s hair would probably be a bit greyer at the temples, and Ennis would have to work a little harder still for Jack’s smiles. The routine with which they settled into their weeks together always stayed the same, though; they’d start out awkwardly those first few hours, reacquainting themselves with each other’s presence as they set up camp and talked about this and that. But sooner or later one of them would cross the invisible threshold that Jack had first crossed when he had taken Ennis’s hand and pulled it to his crotch twenty years ago. After that the gloves were off; clothes would tear, buttons fly, the two men usually not even making it into the tent but rolling around in the soil in a frantic attempt to slake months’ worth of hunger. That first coupling always fast and furious, Jack on hands and knees in front of Ennis in an almost exact re-enactment of their first time. Sometimes they didn’t even get around to eating that first day, wearing each other’s bodies out until they fell asleep, only to wake up the following morning hungry for more. Once that first lust was slaked they were able to enjoy other things besides the sex, but the bruises they sported by the time they parted ways had nothing to do with fishing. Jack had once said jokingly that he had to wear turtlenecks for at least a week so as not to arouse Lureen’s suspicion.

Much later, long after Jack had fallen asleep, Ennis lay awake on his back, staring into the dark and listening to the sounds of the forest outside, the soft creak of pine and the murmuring of the nearby stream. Jack lay on his side next to him, facing away, for the moment unaware of the minutes that were ticking away relentlessly on that expensive silver watch of his, the rapidly shrinking time between now and the inevitable farewell that awaited them tomorrow. Blissfully unaware also of the bad news Ennis had been choking back all this time, afraid to see the disappointment on Jack’s face. Tomorrow was his last chance, and he had to take it or he might as well cut off his balls and flush them down the drain.

He turned over, toward Jack who looked like a sleeping kid with one hand open next to his face. Moving in closer, he pulled Jack against his chest and kissed the nape of his neck, something he reserved for moments like this, never uninhibited enough to show that kind of tenderness when Jack was awake.

 _It’ll be okay,_ he told himself. _Jack’ll understand. Doesn’t he always? He won’t take it too bad._ He closed his eyes, attempting – and failing – to push away the sense of doom that crept up on him. _Please, please don’t let him take it too bad._

Finally he fell into a light and restless sleep fraught with flashes of troubled dreams, while outside, in that dark and silent world, snow started drifting down.


	2. Ultimatum

_I can't say that I'm cruising_  
 _Not that I don't like cruising_  
 _Just that I'm bruising from you_  
  
 _So I guess that I'm going_  
 _I guess that I am walking_  
 _Where? I don't know_  
 _Just away from this love affair_  
~ Rufus Wainwright

*

Ennis’s hands on the steering wheel were shaking so bad that it surprised him he was still driving rather than lying dead at the bottom of a ravine. Already his mind was conjuring up vivid images of broken glass and blood-spattered, mangled steel in a sea of relentless rock. He might still end up that way though, especially if he kept driving like this, taking turns with screeching tires, revving the engine of his loyal old pickup until she started moaning in protest. He could hear the horses’ restless stamping in the back but for just this once, he didn’t care about his animals, or his truck, or any of the other few worldly possessions he could call his own. He just wanted to keep driving, keep driving away from here, even though he knew that he could drive to the end of the world and find no reprieve from the agony that was tearing at his soul.

No, Jack had not taken it well, not well at all. Of course he had been quiet all morning, packing up robotically and walking around with a face like he had just buried his dearest friend, but Ennis had dealt with that before. However, when he told Jack that the date they had fixed on for the next trip - August 13th - wasn’t going to work out for him, mumbling fragments of the little speech he had prepared about shipping stock and winter-feeding, he saw the look in Jack’s eyes and knew he was in trouble.

“November,” Jack had repeated blankly. “And what about August, Ennis, huh? What in the hell ever happened to that? We had a date fixed and everythin’, and now you’re tellin’ me the whole deal is off? What kinda fucked-up joke is that?”

Growing more uneasy by the minute, Ennis had shrugged and attacked his thumbnail vigorously, tipping his head low so as not to see Jack’s tired, stubble-covered, sad face. He could not however shield his ears from the angry slam of the car door, the rising pitch of Jack’s voice.

“Christ, Ennis. You had a whole fuckin’ week to say somethin’ about this, but you just had to save it for the last moment, didn’t you? God damnit. So that was what last night was about, huh? Should have known what you were tryin’ to do, talkin’ dirty, suckin’ my dick like that, fuckin’ me face to face. Should have known you had an agenda there.”

“That ain’t true,” Ennis wheezed out, looking up at last but flinching away from the expression on Jack’s face, the hurt and despair mixed with the anger, naked and raw and all there for Ennis to see. “Did those things for you, Jack.”

“Fuck that. You did it for yourself, Ennis. You were just sugarin’ me up so’s that I wouldn’t kick up too much fuss, nod my head like a good ol’ boy, say ‘sure Ennis, no problem, see you in November, the sex was great, thank you so ever fuckin’ much.’ Now wouldn’t that be nice and easy, Ennis? You havin’ it your way, no confrontations, no trouble, just the way you like it.”

The two men stared at each other for a few moments, Ennis’s mouth open to start denying it, but the words didn’t come and he shut it again. Jack, seeing that Ennis had nothing to say for himself, stalked away angrily, towards the panoramic lake that, over the past seven days, had been their bedroom window view and private swimming pool.

“November! Why’s it we’re always in the freakin’ cold? We oughta go south, ya know, where it’s warm. We oughta go to Mexico.”

“C’mon, Jack,” Ennis tried. “We can hunt in November. Kill us a nice elk.” Way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, they said, and that certainly applied in Jack’s case. “Can try if I can git Don Wroe’s cabin again, we had a good time that year didn’t we?”

Hell yeah they’d had a good time that year-- a fucking great time. That was in 1980, Don Wroe the guy who ran the hardware store in Riverton, drove an old Ford Mustang that kept breaking down but Ennis had always been able to make it purr like a kitten again. In return for those services Don gave Ennis a nice discount at the store and let him buy things on tick when he was out of cash. They weren’t exactly friends, but they were friendly and when one day Don had gotten wind of Ennis’s upcoming fishing trip to the Big Horns he had insisted that Ennis and his buddy use his cabin for the week, firmly refusing Ennis’s offers of paying some kind of rent. “You two just make yourselves comfortable over there and don’t worry about a thing,” he’d said, and that was exactly what they had done. Wasn’t often they had the luxury of hot showers, a proper stove and a soft, real bed, although initially Ennis had had his doubts about using another couple’s bed for their own perverted purposes.

“You’re kidding, right?” a dismayed Jack had said. “Don’t tell me you’re actually expectin’ me to sleep on the floor because of your silly ethics, Ennis. What are you afraid of, that Don’s gonna come here with the missus and discover he can’t get it up no more because we jinxed his bed?”

Ennis harrumphed and shrugged, and Jack had suddenly grinned and said, “Tell you what, friend. We can’t jinx this bed, but we sure as hell can jounce it.” And jounce it they had.

That was also the year they went fishing - _actual_ fishing - for the first time, because Jack kept going on about how nice it would be if they could bring a fish back for Don as a way of thanking the man. Don had been over the moon when Ennis presented him the trout, thanking the embarrassed Ennis over and over.

“You’re thankin’ the wrong guy, Don,” Ennis’d said eventually. “Was my buddy’s idea, not mine.”

“Well,” Don’d said with a grin, “you thank your friend... what’s his name?”

“Jack,” replied Ennis, who, to his mortification, suddenly found himself blushing like a schoolgirl. He wasn’t used to saying Jack’s name aloud to other people, usually tried to avoid it because he didn’t trust himself, didn’t trust his voice to not give him away.

“Well, you kindly thank your friend Jack for me, okay? Sure was a nice thought a him. The missus loves herself some trout and I’m not much of a fisher myself, so this is gonna make her real happy.”

It was at that moment that Ennis had experienced a sudden surge of fondness for the absent Jack that took him completely by surprise. Sure, from the moment Jack had suggested it he’d known the gesture would be appreciated, but he hadn’t really given it much thought. It wasn’t until now, standing face to face with the beaming Don, that he realized how far a little kindness could go, something he always tended to forget. Jack never did though, and he suddenly missed the man so much that he had to turn away from Don to hide the tears of agony springing to his eyes.

But no, this time Don’s cabin wasn’t going to do the trick either-- Jack was still standing there on the lakeshore, motionless like a statue and just as unresponsive. Ennis sighed, digging his hands hard into his pockets and the tip of his boot into the ground.

“C’mon, Jack.” A pleading tone slipped into his voice and he hated himself for it, because he was not a man for begging, but it was his last resort. “Lighten up on me.”

There was another long silence, but finally Jack spoke again, so softly that Ennis almost didn’t catch it. “There’s never enough time, never enough.”

Jack turned around then to face Ennis, who suddenly wished that he hadn’t because now he found himself confronted with that immensely sad blue gaze-- the dull eyes of a brokenhearted man.

“You know friend, this is a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation. You used to come away easy, now it’s like seein’ the Pope.”

Ennis threw up his hands. “Yeah, well, I gotta work, Jack. Whaddaya expect me to do, huh? In them earlier days I just quit the job, but now... I got child support too, ya know. And you...” He stopped mid-sentence because he’d promised himself never to say this, biting his tongue every time Jack showed up with a new car or other flashy accessory. But the words came out anyway, and damn, they sounded even more bitter than he had feared. “You forget what it’s like bein’ broke all the time.”

Jack turned away to gaze out over the lake again, appeared to have nothing to say to that-- imagine that, Jack Twist having no sharp retort ready for a change.

“Well, I can’t quit this one, Jack, and I can’t git the time off. Was hard enough this time, but the trade-off is August.” He shrugged, weary of the conversation, feeling sick to the stomach with it because he wasn’t a man who dealt with conflict well. “You got a better idea?”

“I did once,” Jack said quietly.

 _Oh no._ _No, don’t you do that to me, Jack Twist. Don’t you dare throw that in my face, not now, after all these years._ Suddenly Ennis heard that voice again, Jack’s voice from years ago, before it acquired that silly Texan accent Ennis liked to make fun of. Before the hope fled from it. _“You know it could be like this, just like this, always...”_

But it couldn’t be that way, not then, not ever, because men who shacked up with men ended up like old Earl, dickless and alone in a drainage ditch. So this dream, this sweet but impossible dream had to end then and there, had to end that night for both their sakes, but it hadn’t, not for Jack anyways, because eight years later there he was again, face beaming like the sun. _“Got your postcard about the divorce, and, well... here I am.”_

I did once.

_Goddammit, Jack. Why you keep doin’ this? You think I enjoyed turnin’ you away? You think I liked seein’ your face fall like that? Could see it crushed you. Hated it, hated myself for doin’ that to you. But I had to, ‘cos this the sort of dream could get someone killed, Jack, and there just ain’t no place in this world for two fellas like us. You gotta understand that, boy, or you’re gonna end up like Earl ‘n that would surely kill me, too._

And then suddenly, for no particular reason at all, something just clicked in Ennis’s mind, the horrifying truth revealing itself in its full glory, laughing at him for the fool that he was. _Mexico_. Jack hadn’t just mentioned that because it was warm there. Goddammit. There were other things in Mexico; Ennis knew. He’d heard some guys in the bar talk about it one day while he pretended not to listen. Mexico was where boys and young men offered themselves to other men in exchange for money; whores for queers. In his mind Ennis had seen pathetic, faceless little men scurrying around in the streets of some Mexican town, men so desperate for cock they were willing to pay good money for a few minutes of nameless sex in a dark alleyway riddled with trash and stray cats. That at least was how Ennis had imagined it, and he had been appalled by the idea. But never, not once in all those years, had he pictured Jack, his Jack... The mere thought of it caused his vision to go red, hands clenching at his sides.

“You been to Mexico, Jack Twist?” Slowly he advanced on the other man, his tone soft but with a menacing undercurrent Jack couldn’t possibly miss. “‘Cos I hear what they got in Mexico for boys like you.”

Jack did not flinch away from Ennis’s drilling gaze, his eyes hard, challenging almost as he glared back at Ennis, hands planted on his hips. “Hell yeah I been to Mexico. That a fuckin’ problem?”

Ennis didn’t really need the confirmation, knew the truth before it was spoken aloud, but still he was in no way prepared for this, not prepared to see the world as he knew it crumble before his very eyes. All these years... all these years Jack had been driving those ever-changing trucks of his up and down to Mexico, and all that time Ennis had been just as blind and clueless as Lureen. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!

_How many, Jack? How many were there, huh? How many have you let into your pants? How far do you let ‘em go? Do you watch ‘em the way you watch me when they suck you off? Do you kiss ‘em? Are they any good, Jack? Do they know how to fuck you just right? Do they know what real joy looks like on your face, the glow of a campfire on your skin? Do they even know your fuckin’ name, Jack fuckin’ Twist? And what if you get found out, you ever think a that? Jesus-- you done some pretty stupid things before ‘n so have I, but this fuckin’ beats all. Goddammit, Jack. Goddammit._

Rage was building inside him, along with a thousand other emotions more tangled up than two herds of sheep could ever get. But rage he could handle-- he had a lifetime’s worth of experience dealing with that.

“I’m gonna say this to you one time, Jack Twist. What I don’t know-- all them things that I don’t know...” He pushed Jack hard, wanting to punch the man, wanting Jack to hurt the way he was hurting. “Could get you killed if I should come to know them. I ain’t jokin’.” He fixed Jack with a stare of steel before turning away to spit on the ground.

“Yeah? Well, try this one. And I’ll say it just once.” Jack’s voice was rising, his Texan accent growing thicker the louder he spoke. The big vein in his neck was starting to pop out, never a good sign. “Tell you what, we coulda had a good life together, fuckin’ real good life. Had us a place of our own. But you didn’t want it, Ennis. So what we got now, is Brokeback Mountain!”

Ennis flinched at that, not because of the name but the way Jack said it, shouted it out to the distant mountaintops as if they had done him a great and personal wrong. This wasn’t right-- that name was supposed to sound like milk and honey coming from Jack’s mouth, the way it always had.

“... all we got, boy, fuckin’ all...”

It occurred to Ennis that Jack was still talking, the bitterness pouring out fast and battering Ennis’s emotional defenses. Unable to handle so much anger all at once, Ennis turned away from him, muttering curses under his breath and wishing fervently that he were someplace else. His mind, programmed to tune out in conflict situations, only caught fragments of Jack’s spiel, but enough to get the drift of it.

“... damn few times we have been together... short fuckin’ leash... needin’ something I don’t hardly never get!”

Several beats of silence then, but silence of the bad kind, telling Ennis that more was yet to come. He could practically feel the heat of Jack’s fury burning his back, but when Jack spoke again, there was more devastation in his voice than anger.

“You have _no idea_ how bad it gets! And I’m not you; I can’t make it on a couple a high-altitude fucks once or twice a year.” Silence again, then a tired exhalation and the sound of Jack’s boots moving away across the gravel. “You are too much for me Ennis, you son of a whoreson bitch. I wish I knew how to quit you.”

No. No, couldn’t possibly be Jack saying those words-- so defeated, so sincere. If there was one thing Ennis had learned about Jack Twist, it was that he clung to his beliefs like a tick to dog skin; he stuck, no matter what, and never, not once in all those years since ‘67, had Ennis stopped to consider the possibility of Jack throwing in the towel and walking away. He had never imagined what it would be like, and oh God the pain was so bad, so much worse than anything Ennis had ever felt before, it seemed to him that his very guts had been ripped from his body.

_I wish I knew how to quit you._

“Well then why don’t you?” He hadn’t planned it, but all of a sudden he found himself turning around to Jack, surprising himself with the spiteful words that came out of his mouth-- the tears surprising him too. “Why don’t you just lemme be, huh? It’s ‘cos a you Jack, that I’m like this.” His vision was blurring with the tears he tried to wipe away with his fists, Jack now just a fuzzy shape. “I’m- I’m nothin’. I’m just, I’m nowhere. I’m- oh, God...”

Jack came to him then, tried to put his arms around him, and Ennis hated him for it, hated him for doing that again, touching him and holding him like that, telling him it was all right, but it was not, it wasn’t all right, nothing was, never had been.

_Leave me be, just leave me be Jack, get the fuck off me, I cannot do this, can’t stand this anymore, it’s destroyin’ me but please, please don’t quit me, oh God please don’t ever leave me Jack, not you too, please don’t leave me here all alone._

Later, after the embrace had changed into something different and they’d made hungry, desperate love right there on the lakeshore while the horses were snorting and stamping in the trailer and the ever-blowing wind extracted a mournful song from the trees, they lay side by side for a while before Jack finally rolled away, pulling up his pants.

“You know this don’t change nothing, Ennis,” he mumbled. “This is still one big fat fucked-up situation and sex ain’t gonna fix it.”

Ennis was silent for a spell, watching the clouds chase each other across the azure blue sky. “So what now, huh?” he said eventually, barely hearing his own whisper over the pounding of his heart.

“I honest to God don’t know.” Jack picked up his hat from where it had fallen on the ground in the frenzy of their union minutes before, turned it round and round in his hands, his eyes fixed on the ground. “But I do know I can’t go on like this, Ennis.”

“Can, Jack,” Ennis breathed, but Jack shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Ennis. I’m done. I’ve played by your rules for sixteen years, hell, twenty years even because if I’d had it my way you would’ve gotten into that truck with me after Brokeback and never married Alma. But that I don’t hold against you. We was only nineteen after all, what the hell did we know? It is these trips that are killin’ me, havin’ you for a few days before watchin’ you drive away from me again, tryin’ to go on livin’ the months in between. What I said last night, about missin’ you so bad, that wasn’t just me makin’ nice conversation, Ennis. It gets bad, friend, real bad, and but it ain’t you got to deal with me when I get that way, it’s Lureen and Bobby. Ain’t fair they should suffer because I can’t be the husband and father they need me to be, but it’s too late now. Lureen’s in a passionate affair with her adding machine and God knows who else, Bobby will be goin’ off to college in a year or two and the one reason I’ve let my family slip away from me doesn’t need me either, leastways not as anythin’ more than his piece of ass on the side. Tell you what friend, lookin’ at this charade my life has turned out to be I can’t help but wonder if I wouldn’t be better off dead.”

Ennis froze head to toe at that, the quiet sincerity of those words turning his insides to ice. “Jesus Jack, don’t say that...”

Jack looked at him then, lips twisting into a bitter smile. “Why? Because not hearin’ the hard truth works better for Ennis del Mar, so’s that he can sleep soundly at night, pretendin’ everythin’ is just fine with the world?”

Ennis sat up. “Jack, that ain’t fair. Pains me somethin’ awful, knowin’ you over there in Texas, hurtin’ so bad. You think it any easier for me? Well, you’re wrong, bud, ‘cause I miss you too, sure I do.”

“But not enough to do somethin’ about it,” Jack said quietly.

“Jack, it’s not that I don’t want-”

“Bullshit.” Old anger resurfacing, Jack got to his feet, whirled around on Ennis. “If you wanted, really wanted, you’d find a way to make it happen. But you weren’t never even willin’ to try, and I agreed to the fishin’ trips because I knew it was all you were prepared to give at the time, but I always hoped you’d come around one day. Never happened, and look what sixteen years of lyin’ and sneakin’ around did for us. Two miserable, middle-aged guys with lives that ain’t worth shit, that’s what we are. Well, I don’t wanna live that way no more. I’m almost forty, I got a wife I don’t love, a son I don’t hardly know, a job that I hate. I’m thinkin’ it’s time for me to start makin’ some changes, try and make somethin’ out of my life before it’s too late.” His mouth curved into a wry, humorless smile. “Hey, maybe this is what they call midlife crisis.”

Ennis got up as well, shaking fingers fumbling with his belt. “You cuttin’ me outta your life, Jack?” he mumbled, keeping his head low. “That what you’re sayin’?”

Jack gave him a sad look. “You should know by now, Ennis, you the one thing I want to keep, the one thing in my life worth havin’. Tried to make it permanent sixteen years ago, but the offer got turned down, and I got a strong feelin’ I’d get the exact same answer if I were to ask again. Ain’t that right, Ennis?”

Ennis’s first instinct was to start defending himself, remind Jack of poor old Earl’s fate, but he knew that it would fall on deaf ears. Jack had never shown fear of the tire irons; he’d been shocked, sure, but the message Ennis had meant to deliver with the story hadn’t stuck. Jack still dreamed, apparently. And because Ennis knew that nothing he said could soften the sting of truth, he just kept quiet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Yeah,” Jack said softly. “Thought so.” He put on his hat and turned, starting to walk back to his truck.

“Where’re you goin’?”

“To Lightnin’ Flat,” Jack replied, not looking back. “Gonna see how many ways my old man can think of this time to remind me what a useless, fucked-up life I lead, and for once, I don’t think I’ll disagree with him.”

“But...” Ennis shifted his weight from one leg to the other, desperate to have some kind of reassurance before they parted so bitterly. “We’re gonna see each other again, right?”

Jack paused, one hand on the car door. “I’m too angry right now to answer that, Ennis,” he said with a sigh. “But I’ll tell ya this. I’m gonna be doin’ a whole lot of thinkin’ in the time to come, and I suggest you do the same, figger out what you want your life to be like and if I have any place in it, as somethin’ more than your fuck buddy. If the answer to that is no, I’m callin’ it quits, Ennis. I’m sorry; I don’t see the point of drawin’ out this torture any longer.”

Somehow Ennis had made it into the truck after that, somehow he had remembered to put it into gear before nearly snapping the gas pedal in two in his anxiety to get out of there, get away from the look on Jack’s face as he stood there next to his car, a look that was bound to haunt him in the months to come. He had been driving ever since, driving like a maniac to get out of the mountains, didn’t never wanna see mountains no more because what had they brought him but loneliness and despair? He hated them; sheep and tents too, but most of all he hated Jack Twist, damn Jack Twist who wasn’t never content, always complaining and wanting more, craving things he couldn’t have. Fuck him. Fuck that stubborn mule who didn’t want to know what was good for him.

And yet it was the thought of never seeing Jack again that almost made him steer the truck into a ravine a few times, the vision of metal and blood at the bottom a sweet mercy compared to the alternative, long and lonely years in a wind-beaten trailer on the prairie with only a bottle of whiskey for company. And yet his hands kept jerking the wheel - left or right, depending on the turn in the road - at the last moment, as if some invisible force was telling him that it wasn’t his time, that he had something to live for yet.

He couldn’t for the love of God imagine what it could be.

***

What followed were months of dreary routine. Ennis got up in the mornings, worked ten hours straight only pausing to eat, spent a few hours in the bar smoking and drinking, went home, smoked and drank some more, usually until he passed out where he sat in his recliner, clothes still on. The next morning the cycle would start anew, and Ennis could not help but wonder if maybe this was hell on earth, if maybe the Lord was taking an advance on the suffering that awaited Ennis in the afterlife, his immortal soul doomed to burn forever because he had fucked another man and enjoyed it.

He saw his girls from time to time, and although he tried to clean up his act prior to their visits they clearly were worried about him. Junior especially mothered over him, cooking him dinner, cleaning his trailer, telling him he should smoke less and get out more. It added a feeling of guilt to his misery, because she was young and should be hanging out with her friends like any other girl her age, getting her own life on track instead of worrying about his, which was far beyond saving anyway. Ennis del Mar had taken the wrong exit twenty years ago, and had never been able to find his way back after that.

June and July rolled by, and not a word from Jack in all that time. Ennis told himself that this was normal, they only communicated when it was time to specify the last details for their next meeting, the postcard Ennis had sent Jack after his divorce being the one, disastrous exception. But this time the silence seemed to bear a new significance, an ominous foreshadowing of the years that lay ahead, and Ennis started to believe that Jack had truly done it, had truly quit him, that months, years would go by and no word would come from him ever again.

Ennis started seeing Jack in just about any man who crossed his path; a new coworker who wore the same black Resistol hats, a guy at the bar who smiled in almost the same way as Jack, a passerby on the street who had the same cocky walk. Even Cassie’s new beau, whom Ennis had caught a glimpse of that afternoon in Denny’s restaurant. He was taller than Jack, slimmer, but he had black hair and sported a moustache, enough of a resemblance to make Ennis’s heart ache with longing and regret-- which was ironic because he had never even really liked that moustache to begin with.

These little jokes his mind pulled on him, as distracting and painful as they were, weren’t exactly new. It had happened to him before, though never as frequently as it did now. He remembered one particular day in 1978, when he’d been sweet-talked into chaperoning Junior and Francie - then 14 and 12 years old - to an afternoon showing of _Grease_. Ennis had been bored throughout the entire flick, but the girls had loved it, talking about nothing else on the way back home.

“Olivia Newton-John looked so pretty!” Junior had enthused at some point, elbowing Ennis teasingly in the ribs. “Don’t you think she looked pretty, Daddy?”

“Er, sure, honey,” Ennis said distractedly, because while the girls were chattering about the actresses’ haircuts and dresses, all _he_ could think about was how fine John Travolta’s ass had looked in those jeans, how incredibly blue his eyes were and how familiar his wide boyish grin.

One night in the bar, Ennis came to a grim conclusion as he found himself staring longingly at a group of pool-playing men, one of whom was wearing a blue denim shirt just like the one Jack used to own.

 _Goddammit,_ he thought as his eyes roamed freely over the guy’s ass, appreciating how he filled out his jeans. _You’re a sorry bastard, Del Mar, and as queer as a five dollar bill. Here y’are, horny as hell and growin’ a boner the size a Texas just from lookin’ at some strange guy’s ass. If that ain’t queer, I don’t know what is._ He threw a hard-earned fiver on the counter and left, his last beer not even half finished.

Three days later he was listening to the twelve o’ clock news on the local radio with a few fellas at work during lunch break.

_“... hazardous weather warning. A strong area of low pressure and its associated cold front is expected to hit the state of Wyoming this week, with isolated thunderstorms and chances of snowfall. Strong gusty winds create dangerous traveling conditions in the northwest and those in light weight or high profile vehicles should use caution while traveling. The storm, blowing in from Pacific, is expected to hit the Big Horn Mountain area by midnight.”_

The sucker punch came hard and unexpected, all the background sound turning to white noise as Ennis shoved his chair back blindly, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away before the other guys saw the tears suddenly welling up in his eyes.

“Hey Ennis, you all right?”

He ended up crouching in front of the toilet bowl in a fit of dry heaves, sick to the stomach and brokenhearted over a damn weather forecast.

August 13th came and went, the longest Saturday of Ennis’s existence. It was around this time the dreams started, flashes of sad blue eyes and snippets of conversation coming to haunt him in the night. _I wish I knew how to quit you. Damn you, Ennis._ Ennis woke up most mornings in a strange confusion between turned on and devastated, his sheets often wet and his pillow too.

August 23rd. A regular day at work, a cheese sandwich for dinner, beers and smokes at the bar – no pool-playing men this time, thank God – and a new bottle of whiskey to make those last waking hours bearable. It was only in this inebriated half-state between dozing and waking that Ennis allowed his mind to wander by itself, his right hand sometimes following suit. When he closed his eyes, he could re-live almost every moment of charmed happiness he had spent on that mountain with Jack, like that one time when...

Once their friendship had turned into that different thing, that physical thing, they had initially kept their couplings limited to the confines of the tent, Ennis irrationally fearing spying eyes even though he knew they were the only human beings in a ten-mile radius. It wasn’t long, though, before Jack crossed that line too, shifting closer to Ennis when they sat by the campfire at night, mouth asking for kisses and hands searching skin, fingers exploiting the sensitive areas of Ennis’s body until Ennis all but dragged Jack to the tent for yet another night of not sleeping with the sheep and not checking for coyotes.

Then one morning Ennis had been unable to find his white plaid shirt. Clad in nothing but his jeans, he’d scoured the camp for a few minutes before calling in the help of the camp tender.

“Hey, Jack, where’s my shirt?”

“What shirt?”

“You know, the white one. Can’t find it anywhere.”

“Oh, that one.” Jack appeared from behind the tent, also bare-chested and wearing a silly grin on his face. “I warshed it.”

“Well, where is it? Can’t go up to the sheep half naked.”

Jack slowly raised a hand, the shirt in it. “It’s a bit damp still. I don’t think you can wear it today.”

Ennis gave an annoyed sigh. “It’ll dry. Come on, gimme that.”

Jack’s beaming smile promised trouble for Ennis. “Gimme a kiss first.”

Ennis instantly blushed seven shades of red. “Don’t be silly, boy. Gimme that or else.”

“Or else what?”

Ennis did a lunge in Jack’s direction, but Jack sprang out of reach, laughing. A short chase across the campsite followed, Ennis catching up with Jack in a few moments, whether because he was the faster one or because Jack let himself be caught, he never knew. But before he could stop and think about what they were doing they were on the ground together, wrestling and grappling, Jack on his stomach and Ennis on top of him, trying to wrench the shirt from his hands while Jack tried to keep it out of his reach, frantic with laughter. Those first few bumps of Jack’s ass against Ennis’s crotch were unintentional but effective, the shirt suddenly forgotten as Ennis ground into Jack’s ass in earnest, Jack’s laughter interrupted by muffled grunts.

“Oh, oh, yeah, Ennis, oh God...”

“Off,” Ennis ordered hoarsely as he yanked at his own belt, unzipped even as Jack struggled to do the same whilst lying face down in the mud, raising his ass to reach for his fly. Denim shoved down, the full length of Jack’s muscled back exposed, ass and thighs too, and Ennis’s hand found the back of Jack’s neck and pressed him down on one cheek as he mounted and forced entrance, guided by copious amounts of slick and spit.

Present-day Ennis kept his eyes shut, his every thought on the memory as he whipped out his prick, fisting his hand tight around the shaft in an attempt to mimic the sensation that had always given him so much pleasure, himself buried deep in Jack’s body, Jack quivering beneath him, sweat popping out along his spine, fingers digging into the soil. And oh, that exquisite cry from Jack when Ennis found just the right angle, reaffirming Ennis in his belief that the Lord must have a strange sense of humor-- because if two guys having sex together was such a terrible sin, then why design the prostate in such a way that a few brushes of cock against it had a grown, articulate man like Jack moaning and begging like a five dollar whore?

“Ah, ahh, oh God, oh my fuckin’ God, yes, like that Ennis, just like that, keep goin’, keep doin’ that, oh fuck, _fuck_! Yes, yes, ah, oh please, so good, don’t stop, don’t ever stop, fuck me, Ennis, _fuck me_!”

Ennis came violently, just like he had that morning twenty years ago, needing less than a minute of insistent pumping to reach completion, his mind keeping the memory intact all the way through-- Jack surrendered beneath him, clutching at the mud, his back a riveting display of rippling muscle and skin. And just like that distant morning on the mountain, Ennis moaned Jack’s name when he came.

Needless to say, they had done it out in the open much more often after that, even Ennis finding a strange exhibitionistic pleasure in the deed, fucking Jack under the sky’s watching eye, where the wind could cool the sweat on their bodies, as if they were challenging God Himself to smite them down in the midst of their sins. But even if He was watching, He never so much as raised a warning finger at them.

However, that night in Ennis’s dream, He sent punishment in the shape of tire irons, a group of faceless men tearing Jack out of the arms of some sombrero-wearing guy and going at him, three against one, while Ennis could only stand by, listen to Jack’s cries of agony and watch Jack’s face turn into a bloody pulp…

The next morning he woke drenched in cold sweat, with a sense of terrible doom settled firmly at the bottom of his stomach, and in the realization that today was Jack’s 39th birthday.

He worked grimly that morning, not saying a word to anyone. When lunch hour came around, he didn’t sit down with the other guys but took off in his truck, pulling over at the first pay phone booth he could find. He didn’t know the number, as he’d never needed it before, but he called Informations and asked the operator to put him through to the residence of mister J. Twist in Childress, Texas.

“I have a John M. Twist listed,” she said. “Is that him?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Ennis was taken aback. John M. Twist? All these years and he had never known that that was Jack’s full name.

“One moment please while I put you through, sir.”

It didn’t occur to Ennis that Jack would probably be at work, nor did he stop to think of what he would say if the phone was actually answered. Squinting his eyes against the sun beating in mercilessly through the glass panes, he just stood there and listened to the dial tone for what seemed like eternity, praying with everything he had in him that in a few seconds’ time, Jack’s voice would reach across the 700+ miles that separated them and join Ennis here, in this stuffy phone booth on a deserted sidewalk in Riverton, Wyoming.


	3. Stalemate

_Time goes drifting on by_  
 _when you are just one of the many_  
 _Gonna make a few friends_  
 _as long as they’re holding a bottle_  
 _Thought that I’d given you all that I had_  
 _but I still found something left to lose_  
 _and there’s nobody here but you and I_  
~ Davie Lawson

*

Finally there was a click on the other end of the line, Ennis’s heart doing its damnedest to pound its way out of his chest in the short silence that followed.

“Hello?”

Not Jack. Someone younger, adolescent boy by the sound of it. “Bobby?” Ennis grated out.

“Yes, this is Bobby Twist. Who is this?”

Bobby. Ennis was on the phone with Jack’s son, that boy Ennis had seen growing up by leaps and bounds in the pictures Jack had shown him over the years. Sixteen years old now, blue eyes and black hair like his daddy but the softer facial features of the Newsomes. A good kid, Jack said, but spoiled by his momma and granddaddy and lacking the backbone of a man grown up on the land. “Uh, this is Ennis, Ennis del Mar.”

“Who?”

Ennis cleared his throat. “Ennis del Mar. An old buddy a Jack’s, from Wyomin’. Is– is he around?”

“My dad’s at work, sir, but... this ain’t his number no more anyhow.”

“Huh?”

“My father doesn’t live here anymore, sir. He and my mom split up.”

Ennis nearly dropped the receiver at the boy’s casual announcement, putting out his free hand to steady himself as the world seemed to shift on its axis. Split up? Lureen... oh God, was it possible that she _knew_? Had she finally figured it out somehow? Had she confronted Jack, kicked him out of the house? Had Jack left on his own accord? _I’m thinkin’ it’s time for me to start makin’ some changes..._ Jesus. So this was what they’d come to-- Jack was getting a divorce, and Ennis had to hear about it from Jack’s teenaged son.

“Mr. Del Mar?”

Ennis closed his eyes, clutching the receiver to his ear. “When?” he whispered.

“Uh... couple of weeks ago, I guess.”

The boy was starting to sound a bit bewildered, and Ennis told himself to breathe, breathe, pull yourself together, don’t want to raise no suspicion.

“Where does he live now?”

“An apartment on Bella Vista Drive, couple of blocks from here. Look, I can give you the number...”

“Yeah,” Ennis said, licking his lips. “Yeah, you do that, Bobby. And maybe you c’n give me his number at work too. I need to speak to him real urgent.”

Ennis scribbled both numbers Bobby gave him on the back of his hand, balancing the receiver between his shoulder and his ear and repeating every digit Bobby dictated for fear that he might get the numbers wrong.

“Thanks, Bobby,” he said once he had the precious information. “Appreciate it. I uh… I hope things work out ‘tween your mom and your dad.”

“I don’t think that’s likely, sir,” Bobby said lightly. The kid sounded remarkably nonchalant about it all. “G’day now.”

After hanging up, Ennis stared at the numbers on his hand for a while, the codes that would grant him access to Jack. He still wanted to hear his voice, to be reassured that Jack was okay, but the bombshell Bobby had just dropped on him had given him cold feet. It was too late to abort the mission, though. Next time Bobby saw his dad, chances were he would mention Ennis’s phone call, and it would make a strange impression if Ennis didn’t at least try to contact Jack after all his trouble. Sighing, he picked up the receiver, inserted more coins and dialed the second number, quickly, not allowing himself the time to change his mind.

After exactly one ring and a half, the phone was answered by a woman with the practiced cheer that marks the true secretary.

“Newsome Farm Equipment, how may I help you?”

“I’d like to speak to Jack Twist,” Ennis said firm.

“One moment please,” she said, and the line went dead, leaving Ennis to contemplate the silence yet again. Resisting the urge to slam down the receiver, he forced himself to remember why he was here, that it wasn’t some stranger he was going to get on the phone in a few moments, it was Jack, just Jack, nothing to worry about...

_Except that he done quit Lureen and you might be next._

“Twist.”

Ennis started when the connection was suddenly made and Jack’s voice barked into his ear, his heart jumping into his throat.

 “Your folks just stop at Twist?” he blurted out, and for a while, everything went very, very quiet on the other end of the line.

“Jack?” Ennis whispered into the mouthpiece. “Jack. It’s me, bud.”

“So I hear.” Jack’s tone was not discouraging, not hostile-- if anything, he just sounded stunned. “Jesus Christ. Will wonders ever cease?”

For a moment Ennis hesitated. Did Jack have his own office or did he share? Once again it occurred to him how little he really knew about Jack’s day-to-day life. “Are you alone? Can you talk?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can talk.” Ennis caught some creaking sounds on the other end, and he pictured Jack leaning back in his desk chair, absentmindedly running his hand through his hair the way Ennis had seen him do so many times. “Shit, Ennis, how did you even get this number?”

“Got it from Bobby.”

Pause. “You got it from Bobby,” Jack repeated blandly. “No shit.”

“Yeah. I had Informations put me through, Bobby answered, said you were at work, gave me the number. That’s it in a nutshell.”

“I see.” Another pause. “Ennis, why in hell-”

“What does the ‘M’ stand for?”

Ennis wanted to kick himself, hard. _Way to go, shithead. Why don’t you talk about the weather some while you’re at it?_

“Come again?” Jack’s tone now halfway between confusion and a budding impatience.

“Your name. John M. Twist? Never knew you had a middle name, bud. What is it?”

“Ennis del Mar, I swear to God...” Silence again, then a sigh. “Okay, I’ll play along. It’s Matthew.”

“Matthew,” Ennis repeated, taking the name for a test drive around his mouth. “Like the Evangelist. I bet your momma had somethin’ to do with that, huh?”

“Yup.”

“It’s a good name,” Ennis croaked. “John Matthew Twist... I like that.”

“It’s Jonathan Matthew, actually.” Another sigh from the other end. “Ennis, what the hell is this all about? First time you call me in twenty years, I’m bettin’ it wasn’t just to chat about the ins and outs of my christenin’, right?”

Ennis closed his eyes, leaning his head sideways against the fingerprint-covered glass. “It’s your birthday, bud.”

“I’ve had about twenty a those since ‘63, Ennis. Never warranted a phone call from you before.”

“I... ah, well, it’s...” His resolve severely tested by Jack’s stand-offish tone, Ennis started to stammer, the words bumping their way out of his mouth by fits and starts, like cars with engine trouble. He should have known better than to call, it had been a fucking dumb mistake. What had he been hoping to achieve with it anyway?

“Been thinkin’ about ya, bud,” he finally managed to say. “Been thinkin’ about ya an awful lot.”

“Yeah?” Jack’s voice still flat. He wasn’t going to reach out and help Ennis cross the bridge, not this time.

“Jack.” Ennis braced his free hand on top of the phone, bowing his head to hide his anguished face from nonexistent passers-by. His voice was no more than a whisper. “Jack, you gotta come to Pine Creek in November. You gotta. Please. Please, bud.”

“That’s it?” Jack said soft. “You callin’ me about those lame fishin’ trips? That what you’re worried about?”

“Don’t call ‘em lame,” Ennis said. “Two weeks a year is better than not seein’ each other at all, Jack.”

“Ten years ago I would have agreed with you on that, Ennis,” Jack said sadly. “But things change. I told you last time why I can’t do it anymore; I haven’t changed my mind.”

Ennis felt nausea coming on, wished he could sit down and put his head between his knees. “Jack,” he choked out. “Please.”

“No more fishin’ trips, Ennis. That’s final.” A long, chilly silence on the other end. “Anythin’ else?”

“Yeah.” Ennis swallowed down the bitter disappointment before the weight of it crushed him complete, his jaw hardening. “Those little trips to Mexico you been makin’? I do have a problem with that.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Hell yeah. You playin’ with fire, Jack Twist. You bein’ real stupid, lookin’ to get yerself killed. Gotta stop that, bud, gotta stop screwin’ around with other men.”

“So let me get this straight.” Jack’s voice now icy cold. “It’s okay for me to get my brains fucked out by Ennis del Mar, but when I go lookin’ for someone else to fly my kite in those fifty weeks a year His Majesty ain’t around to do the job, I’m playin’ with fire all of a sudden? What kinda fucked-up logic is that?”

Ennis balled his free hand into a fist. “Goddammit, Jack, you know what I mean. What happened ta Earl-”

“Fuck Earl!” Jack shouted. “Jesus Christ, don’t you ever tire of lettin’ a dead guy rule your life? Lettin’ fear rule your life? ‘Cos I do, Ennis! A couple a fucks in the mountains ain’t gonna do it for me no more. I need- fuck, I _deserve_ more than that. Tell you what, I’ve had it with this ‘I’m no queer’ bullshit. I’m queer, Ennis, I’ve probably been queer since the day I was born and I’m okay with that. I’m tired of pretendin’ otherwise just to make you feel better. I’m done pretendin’, full stop.”

Ennis took a few long, steadying breaths, telling himself to stay calm, keep it cool. His own voice came to him as through a hazy fog. “That why you got divorced, Jack?”

Bull’s-eye. “Bobby tell you that?”

Ennis sensed Jack was caught off-guard, moved in for the kill. “Was a bit surprised I had ta find out like this. Coulda dropped me a line, Jack, told me you were leavin’ your wife, movin’ out.”

“What’s the point? As if me bein’ a free man again was ever gonna make the slightest difference. Ain’t like you woulda jumped into your car and hightailed it all the way down here, way I so foolishly did eight years ago.”

“How ‘bout Lureen?” Ennis asked, dodging the subject. “Does she know ‘bout... ‘bout you?”

A sigh. “No, Ennis,” Jack said, deflated. “My soon-to-be ex-wife remains blissfully unaware a the fact that her husband of eighteen years gets his rocks off with other men, and your fishin’ buddy alibi is still intact. You got nothin’ to worry about.”

Finally, some good news. In his relief Ennis even forgot to be spiteful. “Why’d you do it, Jack? What made you pack up and leave?”

“Never wanted that marriage to begin with, Ennis. Cruel thing to say, I know, but none the less true. Nothin’ I got here ever what I really wanted.” A pause. “What happened back in May was just the last straw, I guess. Started lookin’ for a place ta live after I got back from Lightnin’ Flat, told Lureen I wanted a divorce. Surprised her a bit I think, but no big drama. We’ve been growin’ apart for a long time.”

Thinking back of the tearful process his own divorce had been, Ennis couldn’t help but feel a little envious of Jack. “And you still workin’ for L.D.?”

This actually drew a chuckle from Jack. “He doesn’t like it one bit, but yeah, I am. I’m fuckin’ head of the department, old bastard can’t give me the boot without just cause and get away with it. I’d sue his fat ass and he knows it. He’s doin’ the smart thing, bidin’ his time and waitin’ for me to give him a reason to lay me off. It’s gonna happen eventually, but until then I’m gonna enjoy bein’ the thorn in his side.”

There was a recklessness in Jack’s words that unsettled Ennis some. “Better be careful, Jack,” he warned. “Bein’ unemployed is a real pain.”

“I ain’t stupid, Ennis. I’m puttin’ my antennae out, lookin’ around for somethin’ else. Hell, already sent out a few applications.”

“Well... okay. That’s good.”

“Seriously, Ennis.” A little more kindly now. “Don’t worry about me none, I’ll be fine.”

This brought Ennis back to earth real fast. _Shit! Is he sayin’ goodbye?_

“Jack, wait,” he said, suddenly frantic to keep Jack on the phone. “Don’t hang up.”

“What is it, Ennis?”

“Jack, I wanna see you,” Ennis blurted out. “Can... can you come to Wyomin’ for a spell?”

Baffled silence on the other end. “You want me ta come ta Wyomin’? Just like that, at the drop of a hat?”

“Well... yeah.”

A sigh. “Didn’t I get my point across, Ennis? I’m tired of runnin’ to you like a puppy whenever you call. You wanna see me? Show me you mean it. _You_ come to _me_ for a change, _you_ drive fourteen hours straight to make it happen.” Pause. “But I guess we both know that ain’t never gonna happen, don’t we Ennis?”

“Jack.” Ennis close to begging now. “You know why I can’t-”

“Tell me somethin’,” Jack cut him short. “That habit you got, tellin’ yourself you can’t do things before you even tried, pushin’ away your feelings and fears so’s that you won’t have to deal with them, is that somethin’ you were born with or did that mean ol’ daddy a yours beat it into you somewhere along the way? God, if I had gotten a penny for every excuse... ‘Can’t live with you Jack, it’s too dangerous, can’t talk to you right now, I got the girls for the weekend, can’t come ta Texas, my truck won’t make it, can’t afford a new one, can’t get together in August, gotta work, can’t quit, can’t do a single goddamn thing to turn this miserable fuckin’ life into somethin’ better.’ Never occur to you you’re tellin’ yourself this stuff ‘cos it’s the easy way out, not havin’ to take responsibility for your own life? Not allowin’ yourself to think on the things that could be if only you had the guts to – Heaven forbid – take a chance now and then? Jesus Christ, how you can stand t’live like that is beyond me. Well, if you wanna keep stickin’ your head in the sand be my guest, it’s your life, but I’m through. I gotta do what’s best for me for a change, ‘cos you know what? The world doesn’t revolve around Ennis fuckin’ del Mar, and I been stupid enough to dance to his tune for sixteen years. No more, Ennis. I’m puttin’ my foot down this time, gettin’ off the ride while I still got some sanity left.”

“Jack,” Ennis moaned, “you can’t mean that, bud, you can’t quit me. Please, don’t cut me off. You all I got.”

“That ain’t true. And it ain’t good enough either.” A pause and a sigh. “I’m not cuttin’ you off, Ennis, I’m leavin’ the door open. Ball’s in your court now, and you better decide soon what you’re gonna do with it ‘cos I won’t wait forever.”

Ennis pursed his lips tight. “You’re awful hard, Jack.”

“Don’t wanta be,” Jack said soft. “You think this such a walk in the park for me, Ennis? You know me, I wasn’t never too good at standin’ up for myself. But I did learn a thing or two over the past twenty years, and I ain’t gonna let you string me along anymore. No more compromises, Ennis. It’s all or nothin’ this time.”

Ennis was silent, the weight of the mountain crashing down on him as the implications of Jack’s words sank in, stone on stone, burying him ten feet deep. The already stuffy phone booth suddenly completely devoid of air, sucked vacuum as hope flew out of the proverbial window. Jack, a salesman after all, drove a hard bargain, forcing Ennis to choose between the two things he feared most in this world. The tire irons-- or losing Jack. It was a choice he’d hoped he’d never have to make.

Far-away voices on the other side, barely filtering through. Jack saying, “I gotta run now, Ennis. Got an appointment with a potential buyer I can’t miss. Where are you, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Lunch hour,” Ennis croaked. His throat felt dry and raw, like a wasteland that hadn’t seen rain in a hundred years. “Phone booth.”

“Well I’ll be god damned.” Jack’s tone softer now, almost gentle. “Ennis del Mar, giving up his cherished lunch hour to call me on my birthday. Ain’t that somethin’.” Pause. “Hey, I came down on ya pretty hard, Ennis, but I do appreciate you callin’. Really do. After what happened back in May, I wasn’t sure if... well, it’s just good hearin’ your voice, you know?”

“Jack...”

“Look, just think on what I said, all right? That the least you can do before you say no, think about it. Promise me, Ennis, okay?”

Ennis opened his mouth to say ‘okay’, but the guttural sound that came out was hardly recognizable as such.

“Well.” Jack a bit awkward now, probably didn’t know how to end the phone call, being on the phone with Ennis such a new experience for him. “Better be goin’ then, my appointment’s waiting. Bye, Ennis.”

There was a brief silence, as if he was waiting for Ennis to say something, but Ennis stood as if struck dumb, his mouth refusing to form the goodbye. There was a rustle and a click then and Jack was gone, leaving Ennis to listen to the monotonous drone of the dial tone. It seemed to taunt him. He hung up mechanically, and the next moment he was out the booth, across the sidewalk and into his truck, pulling away from the curb as in a haze. He held it together for exactly two blocks and a half, then he had to stop the truck again because he didn’t see where he was going, his vision so blurred. For a while he sat there, hands clutching the steering wheel, and because he knew himself to be unwatched he let the tears flow freely, for Jack, for Brokeback, for everything that mountain had taken from him, for all the things he had gained because of it and now lost, lost forever.

When the flow of tears finally stopped he started the engine and drove to the nearest bar. He was already halfway out his truck when he caught a glimpse of his face in the rearview mirror. His eyes were red and puffy, but that was the least of it. There were vague blue streaks on his face that took him a moment to figure out. It was ink, ink from the pen he had used earlier to write down Jack’s numbers. Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand had erased most of it, leaving only a faint bluish blur on his skin. The last lifeline cut-- it seemed oddly fitting somehow, and for a long while Ennis sat there staring at his hand, grieving this final loss in the knowledge that he would never make an attempt to retrieve those numbers.

Well. Ennis didn’t remember much of that afternoon later except that he had gotten spectacularly drunk in that bar and used his fists to redecorate some guy’s face for reasons he couldn’t recall. That he had come home at all that day was all thanks to Sheriff Lundy, who had only needed a moment to see that Ennis was in a bad way and arranged for transport to his trailer. “I’m lettin’ you off the hook this time, Del Mar,” he’d said before sending Ennis on his way, “but don’t pull a stunt like this again. You’re damn lucky Bill ain’t pressin’ charges against you.”

The next morning, at work, Ennis was called in for a one-on-one with Stoutamire. Sitting quietly in the proffered chair, he let his boss’s speech come over him.

“... have to say I’m surprised, Del Mar. Stayin’ away from work and stirrin’ up trouble at a bar, that doesn’t sound like Ennis del Mar to me. Look, I’m usually not one to pry into the lives of my employees, but it’s a different story when work is affected by it. Somethin’ happen to get your dander up?”

Ennis shrugged. He felt numb, knew that this conversation would probably end with Stoutamire giving him the boot and couldn’t even get himself to give a flying fuck about that.

“C’mon, Del Mar, I’m tryin’ to see the bigger picture here. It’s pretty clear you ain’t been your best lately. Somethin’ wrong with your girls?”

“No, girls are fine.” Ennis swallowed. “It’s just... I’m sorry, boss. Lost my best friend, and I’m takin’ it real bad.” He knew the words would be interpreted wrong, but that was fine by him. It was the easiest explanation-- and not even that far from the truth.

“Aw, shit.” Stoutamire leaned back in his chair, ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I thought it might be somethin’ like that. You know him long?”

“Twenty years,” Ennis replied, and he looked away because he felt his eyes fill up again.

“Damn.” A pause. “Look, I ain’t heartless. If you think I’m gonna lay you off over this, breathe easy, I’m not. You’re a hard worker and I’d hate to lose ya. I’m not sayin’ it’s okay what you did, but in the light of your loss it’s understandable. And hell, the Lord knows I’ve thrown a few punches in my time. But if you pull a disappearance act like that again, I ain’t gonna be so mild. Got that?”

“Got it, boss.”

“Okay then.” Stoutamire eyed him for a few moments, taking in the sad, sagging figure in front of him. “Now, why don’t you take the rest of the week off? Give yourself some time to grieve properly.”

Ennis shook his head. “Need the money, boss,” he said quietly. “And b’sides, workin’ takes my mind off things.”

Stoutamire nodded slowly. “Fair enough. Your call, Del Mar.”

The conversation over, Ennis got up and made for the door, pausing on the threshold. “Thanks, boss,” he mumbled in Stoutamire’s general direction.

“Don’t mention it,” came the gruff reply, because like Ennis, Stoutamire was no man for sentimentalities.

Ennis got some inquiring looks on the work floor that afternoon, but the guys left him in peace, for which he was thankful. As he went about his work in silence, glad despite everything to still have his job, he thought of Jack and the lie he had told Stoutamire, partial lie that was; the part about Jack being his best friend was true enough. Ennis hadn’t expected to find a friend on that mountain back in ‘63, but shaking hands that day outside Aguirre’s trailer had been the beginning of it. Ennis wasn’t certain when exactly he had first felt that little pull near his midriff when Jack laughed, or when he had first realized that it was more than just his appreciation of Jack’s horsemanship that had him staring like an awestruck kid when Jack sat atop that bucking mare, hands and legs working to keep her under control. But even after lust came into play, and everything else that had made things complicated between them, Ennis had never stopped thinking of Jack as his friend. There was something comforting about it, to think of them as friends who liked to talk, drink, smoke and ride together, and also had sex on occasion. It was preferable to facing the shameful truth-- that Ennis del Mar was a filthy faggot who liked nothing better than having his cock sucked by another guy, pounding Jack Twist’s ass into next week his idea of an evening well spent.

Twenty years of history. For better or worse, that had to mean something. Ennis had seen many Jacks in those two decades, and he remembered all of them. He remembered the young bull rider, dirt poor but cocky as hell. The up-and-coming salesman, sporting leather jackets and fashionable sideburns. He remembered Jack, plastered against the tiles of Don Wroe’s shower, keening like a wild feline as Ennis speared him forcefully from behind. Jack, caressing Ennis’s hair when he thought Ennis was asleep. Jack, talking about taxes and investments and all that other shit Ennis couldn’t care less about. Jack, bitching about L.D. when that elusive promotion had gone to someone else yet again. Jack, eighteen years old and shit-faced drunk, singing ‘Water-walking Jesus’ and doing silly dance routines to make Ennis smile.

And yet Ennis had never met Jack’s wife, or seen his house, didn’t have the slightest idea how Jack spent his weekends at home and what newspaper he was subscribed to. But he knew all of Jack’s scars, the ticklish spots on his body. He knew that Jack preferred his eggs scrambled and that certain brands of whiskey gave him headaches. He knew that he was mildly allergic to bees, that he was fond of all sheepdogs because they reminded him of Murphy, his childhood pooch, and that he would have gotten another one long ago had it not been for Lureen, who hated the idea of pets in the house. And Ennis also knew that he could live to be a hundred years and still remember the way the hair at Jack’s temples tended to curve back to tickle his ears; the way he put his tongue between his lips when he was thinking, or wrinkled his nose when he shaved; the exact location of the moles above his lip and below his ear and the little vein next to his eye that swelled up when the winds of his moods blew a certain way. There was no denying it-- he carried all that knowledge with him, couldn’t get rid of it, cursed to live the rest of his miserable days with only the memories of what he had once had, then lost. All because some administrator at FRE had thought it a good idea to put J.M. Twist and E. del Mar on the Aguirre job together.

Ennis was a down-to-earth man. But sometimes, in moments of quiet reflection, he could not help but think that maybe God had sent him one of his angels to look after him, some guardian angel of sorts. And it couldn’t be wrong to love an angel, even if he came in the shape of another man. After all, what mortal man wouldn’t succumb to an angel, once such a creature got his mind set on seducing him? And if this was all true then there was probably a reason for all of this, the angel taken from him to go brighten up some other poor bastard’s life. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, indeed, and not a single damn thing he could do about it, right? He should just quit bellyaching and move on. Plenty of gals out there willing to make his nights a little less lonely, if Cassie’s words were anything to go by. However, thinking those things and actually putting them into action were two different things altogether. He couldn’t even bring himself to care about the talk that might arise over his lack of interest in women. The presence of a woman would only make things unnecessarily complicated; he much preferred the company of his right hand and the Jack that lived inside his head.

It was disconcerting, in a way, that life went on the way it always had-- the cows still needing to be fed and milked every day, the girls coming to visit, Alma announcing that she was pregnant again. And sometimes, for a few blessed hours, Ennis could just go about his business pretending that nothing had happened and that come November, Jack would be waiting for him at Pine Creek. Sooner or later, though, he would remember that he had no reason to look forward to November any longer, that November was just another month, like all the other months that had gone by since May, and that all days were now the same because he could no longer use them to count down to the next week in the mountains with Jack. Thank God for his girls-- they were the only reason he still bothered to get up in the mornings.

Against his better judgment, he still hoped that Jack would change his mind and realize that the fishing trips were better than nothing after all, but rationally he knew that Jack would sooner suck L.D.’s cock than come back on his ultimatum, even though he must know that it meant the end of them. Twenty years of struggling ended in stalemate. Some days, Ennis just felt angry at Jack for playing such a hard game, and he was glad when a day like that came along because compared to all the rest, the anger was the easiest to handle. But most of the time he just made himself heartsick with thoughts of Jack, wondering, always wondering how Jack was doing, if he still worked for Newsome, if he had been to Mexico recently, if he still remembered that last time in the mountains.

Once or twice, the need to hear Jack’s voice got so strong that Ennis almost jumped into his truck and hightailed it to the nearest phone booth, but he never did. He knew that he had nothing to say that Jack would want to hear, and more begging would get him nowhere. He felt ashamed for not being man enough to call and give their friendship the conclusion it deserved, which was what he would do if he had any decency in him, but he wasn’t ready yet to take that step, to sound the death bell on them, didn’t think he ever would be. How exactly did one cut out the most essential part of one’s life, the one thing that had given meaning to all the rest? Nothing had prepared him for that. No, he would rather go on like this, maintaining the cycle of working, drinking and pining for as long as it took, clinging to that one last spark of hope that Jack might come around yet, even when that hope was just a figment of his mind. The prospect of spending his days like that wasn’t exactly alluring but if that was what it took to keep the spark alive, he was prepared to keep going on like this, just like this always. And that was probably what he would have done, if fate had given him that chance.

The call that changed it all came October 27th, at ten past eleven in the morning.


	4. Cemetery

_I'm just an old cowboy from high Colorado_  
 _Too old to ride anymore_  
 _Too blind to see_  
 _I sleep in the city now_  
 _Away from my mountains_  
 _Away from the cabin we always called home_  
~ John Denver

*

October 27th. One of those days that lets you know winter is on its way, turbulent cloudy skies and a crisp northern wind blowing in from the mountains, the kind of wind that rattles of your trailer, finds its way inside through the cracks and crevices and invades your mind when you are sleeping and unawares, the scent of the mountains filling your dreams with memories of days long past-- days of freedom and folly and youth, now such a long time ago that sometimes you wonder if maybe that was all they ever were: a dream.

The day started out as any other; Ennis waking up on a wet pillow, a dull throbbing ache in his stiff joints and even stiffer cock. He reached into his pajama bottoms and jerked off before the memory of the dream slipped away from him, keeping his eyes closed and his thoughts on Jack as he pumped himself to completion perfunctorily, using both hands and spitting in his palm a few times to create that slick sweet sensation that had him shooting hard in less than two minutes. Then he got up, took a leak in the sink and warmed up yesterday’s leftover coffee on the stove, using it to wash down his breakfast, an old ham sandwich he’d found in the fridge. And then it was into his truck and off to work, the drive just long enough to smoke three cigarettes, sometimes four when he had to wait for a passing train, but not today.

At the ranch it was the same old, same old, Ennis going about his chores with methodical efficiency, the morning a slow monotonous blur of hay and cow shit. At twelve past eleven, Ennis was in the midst of performing an internal exam, his arm up to the shoulder in a pregnant heifer’s birth canal when Leonard, one of the younger ranch hands, came striding into the stable.

“Hey, Ennis? Boss sent me. Said someone called for ya.”

“Huh?” Ennis, focused on his task, barely heard what Leonard was saying. He was struggling with the protesting cow and sweat was dripping into his eyes, the salty sting working hard to distract him.

“Someone on the phone for ya, back at the ranch. Somethin’ urgent, ‘parently. Better get yer ass down there, Ennis.”

Sure enough, this got Ennis’s attention. He had never had someone call him at the ranch before; the only one who would know how to reach him at work was Alma, and she wouldn’t call unless she had a real good reason to, some kind of emergency... Oh sweet merciful Jesus.

“I’m comin’, Lenny,” he said, withdrawing his arm and peeling off the long plastic glove as he turned to the man holding the cow’s halter. “Seems we got a breech here, Tom. This ol’ gal here’s gonna need some special attention when that calf comes.”

Tom nodded. “Sure thang, Ennis. Lemme deal with her, you hurry ‘n go take that phone call.”

“Thanks, Tom.” Ennis was already halfway to the exit before he’d even properly donned his hat. He tried to resist breaking into a jog on his way to the ranch, tried to ignore the cacophony of alarm bells going off inside his head, images of his girls in the most terrible settings flashing before his mind’s eye. His greatest fears were for Junior-- her boyfriend Kurt owned a motorcycle and he had strictly forbidden Junior to come within a ten-foot range of that thing. If he found she had gotten into an accident, young Kurt would do wise to stay out of Ennis’s eyesight, because Ennis wasn’t above breaking the boy’s legs if something had happened to his little girl.

In the end he was running after all, panting and sweating by the time he got to the ranch, and he burst into Stoutamire’s office without even pausing to knock. Not bothering to take his hat off either.

“Whoa, whoa.” Stoutamire, seated behind his desk, glanced up from what he was doing. “Hold yer horses, Del Mar.”

“Boss.” Ennis bent over to gasp for air, feeling every bit of his forty years. “Lenny said someone call for me?”

“Yeah.” Stoutamire gestured at the phone on his desk, the receiver lying next to it, and started to get up. “I’ll make myself scarce for a moment.”

Ennis grabbed the receiver, but hesitated before picking it up. “Is it... uh... is it my ex-wife?”

“No, it’s a young man of some sorts.” Stoutamire shrugged. “Didn’t quite catch the name. Keep it short, this is the central line.” And out he was, leaving a stunned Ennis behind. Not Alma? Then who...?

He slowly, almost cautiously lifted the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”

Two beats of silence, and then: “Mr. Del Mar?”

Something about the voice that spoke those three little words caused Ennis to flop down unceremoniously on Stoutamire’s desk. “Yeah?” he said, hardly any breath behind his voice.

The caller spoke again, and there could be no more doubt as to who it was on the other end of the line. “This is Bobby, sir. ‘Member me? We spoke on the phone couple a months ago.”

Ennis nodded for a few moments, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk hard. “‘Course, course I remember you. You’re Jack’s boy.”

“Yeah. Listen, I’m real sorry to bother you at work but the reason I call...” A sigh. “Well, it ain’t anything good, I’m afraid. My dad’s in the hospital.”

Ennis grew still, silence descending as he tried to make sense of the words the boy was stringing together. “Huh?”

“He’s in the hospital, sir.”

Jack. In the hospital. The words delivered a blow that might as well have been physical, a battering ram against Ennis’s solar plexus. This was it. The moment he’d feared for so long, imagined so many times that the images rose before his mind’s eye instantly, unbidden and unstoppable. Jack by the wayside in the middle of nowhere, no one around to help him or hear his cries when the men attacked him from behind, three of them at least, maybe four. Jack, not a fighter to begin with, helpless against so many, unable to defend himself against the blows of the tire iron raining down again and again and again, until the grass and the soil slowly painted dark with blood. Ennis shut his eyes tight against the all too vivid image, an involuntary moan of agony pushing its way past his lips.

“How many?” he croaked, mouth suddenly gone dry like sandpaper. “How many were there, Bobby?”

“Uh... what?”

“How many were there!” Ennis shouted, probably giving the kid the scare of a lifetime but not giving a shit. “How many, huh?”

Bobby spoke hesitantly. “I... I’m not sure what you mean, sir. My dad was in a car accident last night, ambulance took him to the hospital. It was... well, it was pretty bad, sir. I saw him this morning, he’s badly busted up.”

Ennis sat very still as this information sank in, his first reaction one of relief. No tire irons meant that Jack hadn’t got found out, that their secret was still safe, and that was a reassuring thought, even now. Also, the fear of the tire irons was so deeply rooted that the cold reality didn’t quite hit home at first. A car accident? Jack was a good driver, a damn good one in fact; never’d had so much as a parking ticket as far as Ennis knew. What in hell had happened?

“Well how is he?” Ennis studied a patch of dirt on his jeans, scratched at it with his thumbnail. “How serious is it?”

“He’s got some fractured ribs, a broken arm, punctured lung. He busted his head up pretty good, too, ‘cause he’s been unconscious since the crash. They pulled him out of the truck that way, and he hasn’t come by since.”

Ennis stopped scratching, could literally feel his heart drop a few inches in his chest. “He’s in a _coma_?”

“No,” Bobby hastened to say. “No, but... the docs say there’s a chance he’ll slip into one if his condition don’t change. The sooner he wakes up, the better.”

Ennis groaned. “Jesus,” he muttered, passing a trembling hand over his face. “Jesus.”

“Yeah, it is pretty scary,” Bobby said quietly, sounding younger than his sixteen years. “And the worst thing is, it was his own stupid fault. He was driving home from a bar, drunk as a skunk, ran a red light, got into a slip when he had to avoid another car and slammed into a concrete wall. It’s a good thing it was late and there wasn’t too much traffic, ‘cause it woulda been ugly. His skid marks are all over the intersection, and the truck is total-loss. He must have been driving at least 60 miles per hour.”

Ennis balled his hand into a white-knuckled fist, fighting down the urge to slam it into something. That stupid son of a bitch! Forever going on about the importance of safe driving, giving Ennis a hard time about his old truck and how irresponsible it was to drive with no seatbelt on, and then that asshole went and did this! Good Lord almighty.

“How did you know where to reach me, Bobby?”

“Well… Was my dad, sir. He gave me this number couple a months ago, told me to call you if something should happen to him.”

Ennis slowly lowered his hand. “What?”

“That’s what he said, sir. ‘If something ever happens to me, something bad, call Ennis del Mar and let him know.’ He was pretty insistent about it. Made me promise not to tell Mom, too, though I don’t know why. So... that’s why I called, sir. Just carrying out my dad’s wishes.”

Ennis felt his heart start to tremble, closed his eyes against the sudden pricking of tears. “He told you this? A few months ago?”

“Yeah, shortly after you called to our house. Ain’t it strange, though? It’s almost like... well, like he knew, you know? It really spooks me out.”

“Yeah.” Ennis took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, me too, Bobby.”

 _If something happens to me, call Ennis del Mar._ Jesus. Part of Ennis wanted to curse Jack for being so obvious, so transparent, but the anger dissolved before it could break through the surface, Ennis only feeling shock and weariness at the thought of Jack in his hospital bed, all patched up, pale, still and quiet so unlike his usual way. And the doctors saying he might not wake up-- God, what a fucking nightmare.

“Mr. Del Mar? There’s something else... something I wanted to ask you.”

Ennis shook his head as if that would help him get rid of the images that were all too vivid, too confrontational. “What, Bobby?” he said wearily.

“I was on the phone with my grandmother before I called you, you know, my dad’s mom. I ain’t never met her before, Grandpa neither, but I figured they needed to know what happened. Upset her something awful. Think she really wants to come out here and see Dad, but Grandpa can’t leave the ranch. So I was thinking, uh... maybe, if you’re coming to Texas, you could take her with you, in your car? I know she’d really appreciate that.”

“Me?” Ennis said, baffled. “Comin’ to Texas?”

“Well, yeah. You got a vehicle, right? And you’re friends with Dad? Good friends?”

Ennis fiddled with his hat. “Yeah. Yer dad ‘n I go way back, kid.”

“Well, then you must come! I don’t see how Grandma can make it to Texas otherwise, and I know it’ll mean so much to Dad to have her there if he comes round. And you too, Mr. Del Mar.”

Ennis started chewing his thumbnail. _I ain’t so sure about that, kid._

“Please, sir,” Bobby persisted. “I’ve been setting up this whole plan, feeling real good about myself; don’t go shooting my plane out of the sky, now.”

This had Ennis smiling in spite of himself, a melancholy smile of remembrance. “You sound an awful lot like yer dad right now, son, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that before, sir.” A chuckle on the other end. “Come on; you gotta at least consider it.”

_That the least you can do before you say no, Ennis, think about it._

Goddamn.

“Don’t need to, kid.” Ennis switched the receiver from one ear to the other, his decision suddenly made. “I’ll do it.”

“You will? Really?”

“Yeah. I want to. And I owe your dad.” _You don’t know half how much._

“Great! I’ll call Grandma and tell her you’ll pick her up... when?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll take the day off.” His mouth suddenly three steps ahead of his brain, Ennis started pacing back and forth, as far as the telephone cord would allow him. “They live up in Lightnin’ Flat, right?”

“Yessir, they do.”

Ennis made a quick calculation. “It’s a five hour drive at the least. Probably won’t make it there until late afternoon.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that. She’ll bless your heart for this, sir. I felt so bad for her, being stuck there in Lightning Flat with all this going on. I know my dad is real fond of her; they’re pretty close, even though they don’t see each other that often.”

_My momma, she believes in the Pentecost... My momma’s a real good cook, she makes killer cherry pie. You gotta meet my mom sometime, Ennis, she’s a real sweet lady and I know she’d love you._

“Ahem.”

Ennis looked up, saw Stoutamire standing in the doorway, tapping his wrist meaningfully.

“Gotta hang up now, Bobby,” he said. “You tell your Grandma I’ll pick her up tomorrow. What’s the name of the hospital?”

“St. Sebastian’s, in Amarillo. Dad’s on ICU at the moment, don’t know where he’ll be when you get here though, they’re moving patients around all the time. Thank you again, Mr. Del Mar.”  
  
Ennis lowered his eyes to the floor. “Does your momma even know you’re doin’ all this?”

“No sir, it was my own idea. She wasn’t never too fond of the idea of meeting Dad’s folks, so I’m guessing she won’t be thrilled, but I’ll prepare her gently. This ain’t about her anyhow.”

Ennis shook his head slightly, wondering if this was the same Bobby Jack had always told him about. It seemed to him the boy had plenty of grit in him. “You’re a good kid, Bobby, doin’ this for yer dad.”

“It’s no big deal,” Bobby said. “I’ll let you go now, sir. Drive safely.”

Ennis hung up and turned slowly to Stoutamire, who was regarding him attentively from where he stood in the doorway. “Bad news, Del Mar?”

“Family trouble.” The lie rolled off Ennis’s lips smoothly, and he wrenched his hat in his hands as he faced the foreman. “I gotta take the day off tomorrow, boss. Got a few things to take care of.”

“Sure, sure.” Stoutamire scratched his temple. “Jesus, Del Mar, you’re getting more than your fair share of shit lately, don’t you? First that buddy a yers, and now this.”

“Uh, yeah,” Ennis said, only now remembering that other lie he’d told Stoutamire two months back. Shit. He had never been a dishonest kind of man, hadn’t been raised that way, but it seemed that where Jack Twist was concerned, lying and deceiving was about all he did. “Thanks, boss,” he mumbled as he made for the door.

“No problem. So, where are you headin’, to Casper? Didn’t ya have family there?”

“No, not to Casper.” Ennis left the room with some haste to avoid further questions, but not before he’d given Stoutamire the one truth he could afford to tell him. “I’m goin’ to Texas.”

***

Ennis was on the road by 10 AM the next day, a thermos full of coffee next to him in the passenger’s seat and a duffel bag with a few personal belongings in the trunk of the car. Save for a few hours of sleep he had been constantly on his feet since the ill-fated phone call, preparing for the journey with the diligence and thoroughness of a man who has never left the state before. First off, he’d called on Alma and Monroe to let them know he couldn’t see the girls this weekend – Alma had pinched her mouth up tight when he told her where he was going and why – and then he had gone around town looking for a Good Samaritan willing to lend him a reliable truck, finding one in the ever dependable Don Wroe, who still remembered Jack and the trout and had handed Ennis the keys of his Chevy ‘81 without a moment’s hesitation. It was a fine vehicle, one Ennis felt confident would bring him to Texas without trouble.

Not once had Ennis allowed himself to stop and think about what he was doing, to contemplate what exactly he had agreed to by telling Bobby he was coming to Texas. Meeting Jack’s parents, seeing Lightning Flat and the ranch Jack had grown up at, visiting Jack at the hospital where he would probably come face to face with Jack’s wife and kid, it was nothing he’d ever thought he’d do. But as he steered the car away from Riverton that morning, beginning an odyssey that would end in Amarillo, Texas, he knew he couldn’t have made any other decision.

It was a clear, beautiful morning, the sun heating up the cabin of the truck even though it was cold outside. Ennis drove in silence, the radio turned off as usual. He didn’t care much for music, unlike Jack, who always had that goddamn radio on, whistling and singing out loud like some crazy teenager. Ennis remembered a time back in, what, 1970? He and Jack were heading out on one of their trips again and Jack drove with the volume button turned up high, singing loudly like he owned the whole wide world.

_“Here comes the sun_   
_Here comes the sun, and I say_   
_it’s all right_   
  
_Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter_   
_Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here_   
_Here comes the sun_   
_Here comes the sun, and I say_   
_it’s all right...”_

Ennis had muttered a little under his breath and Jack had turned to him, face beaming – because this was long before Ennis’s divorce, long before that brief, ill-fated conversation by the truck drove the light from Jack’s eyes – and said, “What is it, Ennis? If you got somethin’ to complain about, at least do it a bit more loudly, will ya?”

Ennis shrugged, mumbled something like “Jack fuckin’ Twist can’t never just be quiet for a spell, do ya really know every fuckin’ song there is goddamn.”

Jack gave him one of his ear-to-ear grins, rolling his eyes. “It’s the Beatles, Ennis. The hottest thing ta come outta England since Will fuckin’ Shakespeare. Don’t you ever listen to the radio?”

“To the news, yeah. Not this kind a shit.”

Jack nodded at the radio. “Not your taste, huh?”

Ennis scowled, looking out the window. “It’s awfully cheery.”

Ten years later this exchange would probably have escalated into a pointless squabble, but back in 1970 Jack just laughed, gave Ennis’s thigh a little squeeze and said with a flirty wink, “You’re damn cute when you’re actin’ grumpy, Ennis. Gets me kinda hot, to tell ya the truth. Can’t hardly wait to pitch that tent and show ya just how hot I am for ya, cowboy.”

“Shuddup, you fool,” Ennis grumbled, but he felt his lips tilt into a smile, and didn’t protest when Jack kept his hand where it was.

_It seems like years since it’s been clear._

It was also fear that kept Ennis’s hand away from the radio, because after all those hours he’d spent on the road with Jack, listening to the man sing and hum and whistle, he knew that every third song would remind him of Jack, flood him with memories that would serve no purpose except to make him ill. No, the silence was pleasant, silence was one thing he’d never associate with Jack Twist. But God, what Ennis wouldn’t give right now to have Jack sit next to him at this very moment, singing and using the steering wheel for a drum instead of lying in some hospital bed with tubes sticking out of his body. Ennis shifted a bit in his seat, his fingers trembling ever so slightly when he lit another cigarette.

It was a monotonous drive to Lightning Flat, Ennis’s car the only vehicle on the road for miles on end. He ate and drank behind the wheel, stopping once to empty his bladder by the wayside, and then again at a gas station a few miles from Lightning Flat, manned by a bored-looking guy in a greasy overall.

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” the guy said conversationally as he filled up Ennis’s tank. It was clear that the man was desperate for a bit of human interaction.

“Nope, just visitin’,” Ennis replied non-committal, hands buried deep in his pockets as he gazed down the road. “Could you tell me where I can find the Twist ranch? Should be somewhere around here.”

“The Twists? Sure.” The man shifted his quid of tobacco from one cheek to the other. “Twist Junior’s been comin’ here fer years, ever’time he visits his folks. Got hisself some fancy career down in Texas, sales or somethin’. Nice cars, good tips.”

Ennis groaned inwardly. Yeah, that sounded like Jack Twist all right-- strewing his money and life story around like confetti at a carnival.

The man spat on the ground. “The ranch ain’t five miles from here. Jus’ keep goin’ north till you get to a dead tree standin’ by the wayside. You gotta get off the main road there, head northwest for a spell. If ya jus’ keep followin’ the fence line ya’ll get there sooner or later. It’s a white buildin’, can’t miss it.”

Ennis thanked the man and paid him, tipped him too, though not as generously as Jack probably would have done.

Lightning Flat. The way Jack always described it had made it sound like the very entryway to hell, and Ennis could see how the desolateness of the prairie, the decrepit ranches and beaten down cattle would become oppressive to a young boy like Jack growing up here; but there was something hauntingly beautiful about it too, something about the empty, windswept plains and the wide blue skies that appealed to Ennis’s nature, the stillness of it all calling to his solitary soul.

As he maneuvered the truck over the potholed road along the Twists’ fence line - thinking that Jack must have done the same thing dozens of times, including that one time after Brokeback - a small fenced patch of land by the wayside caught his attention, and it was with a sickening little drop of his stomach that he realized it was a cemetery, the last resting place of those that once walked these plains. Before he even knew what he was doing and why, Ennis was out the truck and through the rotting gate, which hung lopsided on its rusty hinges.

Feeling all kinds of a trespasser, he wandered past the rows of makeshift graves marked by plastic flowers, old photographs and at best an makeshift wooden cross with the name of the deceased carved into it. He didn’t know what he was looking for until he found it-- the first grave bearing the name of Twist. He knelt down in front of it, lips moving slightly as he read to himself the inscription that had been carved into the weathered wood: Christopher A. Twist, 1897–1933. Jack’s grandfather, perhaps. And the adjoining graves: Margaret Prudence Twist, beloved wife of Christopher; Andrew Jonathan Twist, deceased 1971; and the very small, very sad little grave of Sarah Margaret Twist, dates of birth and death only three months apart. Ennis realized with a growing discomfort that what he was looking at was the Twist family plot. Several family members had already found their last resting place here-- and there was room for more.

He made it back to the truck just in time to heave up the contents of his stomach by the wayside, clueless as to why this place got to him so, why it felt like all his insides wanted to come out through his mouth. All he knew was that he wished he hadn’t stopped the car and gone in there, what had he been thinking, and how was he ever going to forget about this place now that he knew it existed? A small patch of death, faded memories and unfulfilled dreams in the midst of this endless grieving plain.

He crouched there in the grass for a while until his stomach settled again, then rose on unsteady legs and got back in the truck. He rinsed his mouth with the now cold coffee, switched the engine on and took off without even the slightest glance back.

The Twists had quite a large spread. It took Ennis almost ten minutes to drive from the outer fence line to the ranch, and he allowed himself a good long look at the land. It wasn’t too well tended, but it looked fertile; and what Ennis could see of the herds didn’t look too bad either, except that there seemed to be too little cattle for such a large spread, and Ennis saw no human activity in the fields, which made him wonder if old man Twist ran the ranch all by himself.

The house itself stood like a lone sentinel on the prairie, accompanied only by the slightly smaller barn, which stood at a stone throw’s distance. Both looked old and neglected, paint peeling and the front porch sagging with age. Still, it was obvious that it had been a beautiful house once, and Ennis felt a shiver run through his bones at the sight of it, knowing that this was where Jack had grown up, this was where he had spent that winter after Brokeback. Ennis wondered how that winter had been for Jack, if it had been similar to Ennis’s-- the memory of Brokeback still fresh, so fresh that Ennis could easily revive every moment in his mind, recall the scent of Jack’s skin, the feel of that soft black hair under his fingers. It was an ability he lost as the months progressed, the sweeter scents of woman, cheap soap and baby hair replacing Jack, but a stolen embrace in a stairwell a few years later taught Ennis that a kiss was all he needed to be reminded.

There was another truck parked out front already, a beaten brown Dodge that had seen better days. Ennis parked next to it, turned the engine off and sat staring at the dashboard for a while. He had cold feet; but there was no way in hell he was going to turn back now, not after coming such a long way, not with Jack in the hospital all alone and three generations of the Twist family depending on him.

 _Oh Jack,_ he thought as he reached for the door handle. _If only you could see me now, bud._

He got out of the truck, stuffing his gloves into his back pocket as he let his eyes wander around the property, taking in the ruinous barn, the haphazard heaps of junk, the rusty old bike leaning tiredly against the fence, both tires flat. It wasn’t until he turned to the house that he was struck by a vision he would not forget for as long as he lived: a small, dark-haired woman standing on the porch, arms alongside her body. The ill-fitting blue and grey plaid of her cardigan and dress hung loosely around her fragile frame, and Ennis realized with a little start that although he could see nothing of her son in her, this had to be Jack’s mother-- and that thought sent a strange tremor through his heart.

He felt oddly shy as he approached the house, not sure what to say to this lady, not sure what to expect either. The surprise was therefore all the greater when Mrs. Twist came out to meet him and took his proffered hand between both of hers, her attentive brown eyes shining up at him as though he was the Messiah himself.

“Bobby said you were comin’, but I didn’t dare believe it until I saw your truck comin’ down the road,” she said, her work-roughened but warm hands squeezing his. “I am Sophia Twist. It’s so good ta finally meet ya, Ennis.”


	5. Shrine

The first thing that struck Ennis about the interior of the house was how completely devoid of color it was, how barren and sterile it looked in spite of the few personal touches Mrs. Twist had obviously tried to give to her domicile. Only the most elementary pieces of furniture were present, and they were old and worn, silent witnesses of the poverty that was mistress in this household. To Ennis, son of a penniless farmer himself, it was nothing new.

Ennis sat at the dinner table, facing the man who was none other than Jack’s father. John Twist was a man in his mid-sixties, small but sinewy, not half as intimidating in stature as Ennis had imagined. He had close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and blue eyes, but unlike Jack’s they were suspicious and hard, sizing Ennis up with unconcealed hostility. Twist, who leaned on the table in a pose that was clearly meant to demonstrate to the guest who exactly was boss in this house, hadn’t spoken a single word so far, and when Ennis had offered him a hand earlier he had looked at it as though it might give him a contagious disease. The stifling silence stretched out and out until Sophia Twist emerged from the kitchen.

“You want a cuppa coffee don’tcha,” she said to Ennis, wiping her hands on her apron. “Piece a cherry cake?”

“Yes Ma’am, I’d love me some coffee, but I can’t eat no cake just now.” Ennis spoke politely, like his own momma had taught him. “Thank you.”

She gave him a small smile of understanding and went back into the kitchen, the old man’s eyes following her every move.

“I feel awful bad about Jack,” Ennis said tentatively, in an attempt to get a conversation going with Twist before chilly silence descended on the Twists’ living room once again. “I’ve known him a long time.”

Twist gave no reaction, but he was listening, Ennis could tell by the way the old man’s lip curled in scorn.

“Bobby said your wife didn’t have no transportation to Texas, so that’s why I come by.” Ennis paused a moment, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “I know you’re busy with the ranch ‘n all but you’re welcome to come along, if you want. The truck’s big enough.”

At this Twist finally looked up, ice blue eyes full of disdain locking with Ennis’s. “Now listen here, sonny. The only reason I’m lettin’ my wife go ta Texas with you is because she’s the boy’s mother and hasn’t quite given up on ‘im yet. Me, I couldn’t care less if he rotted in his bed, to tell ya the truth.”

“John!” Mrs. Twist came out of the kitchen with coffee, shooting a nervous glance at Ennis. “Don’t talk about our son that way.”

“I’ll tell Mr. Del Mar here exactly how I feel about ‘our son’,” Twist sneered. “He done make it very clear how he feels about us, ain’t he? Soon as he got hisself a rich wife and that salesman job down in Texas we suddenly wasn’t good enough no more, like we was an embarrassment to ‘im. Thought he was too goddamn special to earn an honest livin’ at the ranch, same ranch that supplied his daily bread for more ‘n twenty years. Ungrateful dog got what he deserved, if y’ask me.”

“John,” Mrs. Twist pleaded, hand going up to her throat.

Twist rolled his tongue around in his mouth, his glare unwavering as Mrs. Twist turned to Ennis.

“Jack still comes home every year,” she told him, “all the way from Texas, ta help his daddy out at the ranch.”

“Can’t get no help out here,” Twist said, eyeing Ennis angrily as though it was all his fault. “And Jack, he useta say, ‘Ennis del Mar,’ he useta say, ‘I’m gonna bring him up here one a these days and we’ll lick this damn ranch inta shape.’ He had some half-baked notion the two a you was gonna move up here, build a cabin, help run the place. Been hearin’ that story for years, ‘bout how good ol’ Ennis del Mar would come here ‘n save the day.”

He paused to spit in his cup and Ennis lowered his eyes, looking into the cup of coffee he held in his hands. He did not doubt for one moment that Twist was speaking the truth. He heard Jack in those words, heard him clear as day. Ennis wondered when Jack had started telling his father those things, and how long it had taken for him to stop believing in them.

Also, it didn’t escape Ennis’s attention that Twist spoke about Jack in the past tense.

“Then this spring...” Twist went on thoughtfully, “... he said he’s gonna split up with his wife and move back here. And he’s got another fella gonna come up here with ‘im, some… ranch neighbor a his from down in Texas. Together they was gonna come up here, build a cabin, help run the place. So he said. But like most a Jack’s ideas, it never came to pass.”

Ennis del Mar wasn’t stupid. After Jack let the proverbial cat out of the bag, about being no stranger in the streets of Mexico, Ennis had started to feel suspicious of this ‘ranch foreman’s wife’ Jack said he was seeing in Childress and of whom he spoke with such unusual reserve. Twist’s words only confirmed what Ennis had been suspecting for quite some time. Unfortunately, the hurt was no less because of it. No, Ennis was amazed to find that after all those months of going through his very own brand of hell there was still so much pain to be had, and so much anger to be felt at the idea that not only did Jack, that stupid careless asshole, screw around with other men, he’d been parading his queerness around Texas like it was all fine and dandy, too. Jack Twist’s ass, free for all. Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

 _I’m headin’ up to Lightnin’ Flat,_ Jack had said back in May. _I’m not cuttin’ you off._ _You the one thing in my life worth havin’._ Beneath the table Ennis gripped his knees hard with his hands, not knowing whether to feel sick with heartache that Jack had been looking around for someone to replace him, or mad as hell that he had lied about it.

Mrs. Twist, who had not stirred throughout the entire exchange, reached out a hand at that point and placed it on Ennis’s shoulder, the unexpected gentleness of the gesture giving him a start.

“You’re a good man, Mr. Del Mar, for doin’ this,” she said quietly. “Takin’ me to the hospital to see my boy. I’ll pray to God to reward you for that kindness.”

“It’s no trouble, Ma’am.” Ennis downed his coffee in one gulp and put the cup down with a slightly trembling hand, suddenly so bent on getting out of here, away from this house and from that stud duck across the table, that he barely noticed the hot coffee burned his mouth. “We’d better get goin’, I suppose. Do you have some clothes packed, some personal effects?”

She turned away from him, busying herself with cups. “Well, it’s no use leavin’ now. We’d arrive in the middle of the night, and my daughter-in-law ain’t set up for that. Besides, you’ve made a long trip already. Better to have a good meal first, catch some sleep before we get on the road.”

“But Ma’am,” Ennis objected, growing pale. “Don’t wanna be no trouble...”

“You ain’t,” she said, still avoiding his eyes. “John and I talked about it. You’re welcome as our guest.”

Ennis glanced at Twist incredulously. One look at the man’s face made it clear that he was even less excited about the idea of Ennis staying than Ennis was, but he didn’t say a word.

“We’d have to get up real early,” Ennis said weakly. “It be best if we’re on the road by five AM.”

“That’s fine. I’m a rancher’s wife, Mr. Del Mar. I’m used to risin’ early.” She met Ennis’s gaze, facing away from her husband, the pleading look in her sorrowful brown eyes causing any remaining protests to die on Ennis’s lips.

“Well... okay,” he said finally. “Thanks so much for your hospitality, Ma’am.”

She nodded. “You can sleep in Jack’s room. I kept it the way it was when he was a boy; I think he appreciates that. The bed’s probably a bit small for ya, though.”

“That... that’s fine, Ma’am,” Ennis stammered. “I ain’t picky.”

“You can go up, if you want. You got some things with you?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Ennis said, grateful now he had actually thought of bringing his toothbrush and some other overnight stuff. He glanced at Twist again, but although the old man was still glaring at him with open disdain, clearly not liking the idea of a house guest invading his territory, it didn’t look as though he was going to speak up against it. Ennis realized with some wonder that the spouses must have discussed this prior to his arrival, and that that petite, fragile-looking woman had somehow succeeded in making Twist agree to it. Ennis felt his stomach clench at the thought of spending the night in this house, going up there and setting foot in that room, the room that was suffused with Jack, filled with ghosts from the past that would surely come to haunt him in the night.

“I’ll... uh... I’ll just go get my stuff from the truck, then,” he said, getting up. “Thank you for the coffee, Ma’am.”

Two minutes later he was back with his duffel, shuffling into the room like a timid dog afraid of getting beaten, still feeling keenly that he was treading onto unfamiliar territory-- and the alpha male was following his every move.

“Go on,” Sophia said, giving him an encouraging nod from where she stood at the sink. “First floor, first door on the right.”

He nodded thankfully and quickly crossed the living room, glad to be able to escape the old man’s scrutiny. He climbed the narrow stairs, which led to a landing that was even bleaker than the living room and just as desperately in need of a paint job.

The floorboards creaked as he approached what had to be the door of Jack’s room, the hand that reached for the door knob visibly unsteady. Part of him was afraid to find out what lay behind that door, knowing that by crossing that threshold he was stepping into a world from which no return was possible. The things he would see and hear in this house would be with him forever, Jack’s life invading his own after twenty years of carefully keeping them apart. In his desperate need to at least keep some control over a situation that had been wildly unmanageable from the beginning, he had never allowed himself to think much on the man Jack was when he wasn’t camping in the mountains with Ennis. Jack’s past, his life in Texas, had been something abstract and far-away and it had to stay that way or the precarious balance Ennis had safeguarded all those years would be shattered, with devastating consequences.

But he had come so far already. And somehow, now that he was here, it seemed to him that whatever he would find on the other side of that door couldn’t be half as bad as the thing that had brought him here in the first place-- Jack starting that engine after drinking himself into a stupor, stupid ass of a man that he was. Ennis opened the door.

The room was simple of course, only the bare necessities there. A bed, a desk with a chair, a wooden dresser against the wall. There was one window, no curtains. Only a few sparse items reminded of the boy that had grown up here-- an old baseball glove, a wooden toy cowboy, an ancient transistor radio covered in dust. Slowly Ennis advanced further into the room, his fingers finding the mementoes of Jack’s youth as though wanting to connect with their old owner through them. There was no divine spark though, no tingle in his gut; here he was standing in the room that had once been the centre of Jack’s universe and he didn’t feel Jack here at all. Nothing in this dreary, lifeless place reminded him of the Jack he knew.

Downstairs, the screen door slammed. Ennis went to the window, the toy cowboy still in his hands, and looked out at the driveway down below. He saw Twist stalking towards his truck, completely ignoring the Chevy as he got behind the wheel and started the engine. He pulled away fast, the wheels kicking up sand and gravel as he made a sharp turn and drove away southwards. Ennis watched him disappear in a cloud of dust and wondered how many times Jack had stood here over the years, watching the old man drive away and knowing himself safe for a couple of hours, safe from the insults and the abuse and the belt. Ennis clenched his hands shut, the toy’s sharp edges digging painfully into his skin.

When Sophia Twist entered her son’s old room about ten minutes after her husband had left the house, Ennis was sitting on the narrow little bed, the toy still cradled in his hands and his eyes staring blearily into space.

“Jack loved that toy,” she said gently, pausing in the doorway. “It was a gift from his uncle Harold.”

Ennis looked up at the mention of the name. “The one who got pneumonia.” He blushed when she gave him a strange look and quickly clarified, “When we were on the mountain... Jack told me his uncle was real sick. But he was doin’ better by the time we was goin’ down, as I recall.”

She nodded and came further into the room. In her hands she held something that looked like an old jewelry box, dark mahogany with a golden lock.

“I thought you might be innerested in this. There ain’t many pictures of Jack but what I have, I keep in here.” She gave him a timid smile. “Would you like to see ‘em?”

“I…” Ennis swallowed, looking at the box with some degree of dread. His mind was half made up to refuse, but the look in her eyes told him what this meant to her, how much she was aching to talk about Jack in this difficult time, to share her love for her only child with someone she knew would understand. What a lonely life she must lead out here in this sad carcass of a house, slowly eroding in the prairie wind, with only that resentful husband of hers for company. He nodded. “I sure would, Ma’am.”

She sat down next to him, opening her little box of treasures. The first photograph she handed him showed a baby with a wide toothless smile and an unruly tuft of thick black hair on top of his head.

“This was taken durin’ one a my visits to my brother in Gillette,” she said. “Jack was nine months old there, puttin’ on a big ol’ smile for the photographer. Wasn’t scared of the camera at all. Can ya tell it’s him?”

Ennis shook his head slowly, staring at the picture he held in his trembling fingers, at the infant whose face he did not recognize. “Not really, Ma’am.”

Next was a shot of skinny boy, approximately eight years old, flashing a happy smile at the camera while he knelt on the ground, his thin arms around the neck of a long-haired sheepdog. It was an endearing tableau, the face that beamed at Ennis from the paper undeniably Jack’s this time.

“Jack done told me he had a dog name a Murphy when he was a kid.” He pointed at the picture. “That him?”

Sophia nodded, looking at the picture with sad eyes. “We got him in ‘46, when Jack was two. We was havin’ a good year and John said every boy needs a dog growin’ up. They was like peas in a pod, those two; made a real good team. Even competed in sheepherdin’ contests a couple a times.”

“No kiddin’.” Ennis could not help but smile at that. “They ever win anythin’?”

“Third prize, once. That was when the picture was taken, at the annual county fair of ‘52.”

“I didn’t know that.” Ennis took another good look at the happy pair in the picture. “Jack didn’t seem to want to talk about ‘im much, and he’s usually one to brag.”

Mrs. Twist grew still at that, her gaze turning inward as she spoke. “Sometimes I think it cain’t be good for a child to grow up at a ranch. Too lonely. A young boy’s gotta have other kids around, but Jack didn’t even have brothers or sisters ta play with. His heart got broke when Murphy died. That dog was all he had.”

“What happened to ‘im? Did he get sick, or anythin’?”

She seemed nervous suddenly, glancing at his face and then at the door. “He started behaving differently one day. Got listless, slow, wouldn’t get up from his place by the stove. After a few days he started pantin’ real bad, like he couldn’t get breath. Broke my heart to hear it. The vet said it was somethin’ with his heart, somethin’ that was causin’ his lungs to fill up with fluid. That was what caused the pantin’. Couldn’t be cured, but the vet said that with surgery and pills, he could make it another year or so.”

She was almost whispering now, staring down at the floor. “Of course, we wouldn’t never be able to pay for that. So when the vet was gone, John took the dog outside and shot ‘im through the head while Jack stood by ‘n watched. He didn’t want to, but John made ‘im, said it was a good lesson for later, told ‘im a sick working dog ain’t worth keepin’ alive.”

Ennis swallowed, wishing now that he hadn’t asked. Of course, life on a ranch could be hard like that, and Ennis had had to put down dozens of sick animals in his lifetime, but a father forcing a little boy to stand by and watch his beloved pet be killed, and calling it education, that was of a cruelty Ennis couldn’t wrap his mind around, and he wanted to weep for that smiling little boy in the picture.

“Jack didn’t shed a tear,” Sophia went on quietly, “at least not in front of his father. Just took Murphy in his arms and went someplace to bury ‘im. Stayed away for hours, went straight to his room when he finally got back. I took some sandwiches up here, tried to console ‘im, but he wouldn’t have none of it. He just lay here, starin’ at the ceilin’, wouldn’t hear a word about Murphy. And then he said, I’ll never forget it, ‘I hate him, Momma. I hate that man.’ Was the first time he ever said that. So calm and cold; gave me the shivers, ta tell ya the truth.”

She still didn’t look at him, her slumped shoulders making her look even smaller. “Jack’s father was often hard on ‘im. I’m sure that ain’t no secret to you.”

Ennis shifted a bit, clearing his throat uneasily. “No, Ma’am.”

She wrung her hands in her lap. “John wasn’t always like that. He wasn’t never an affectionate sort of man, but when we got married I didn’t think he could be violent. And he wasn’t, at first. But the hard work made ‘im bitter, and when Jack came... Well, John was real happy to have a son, but... I think he imagined himself havin’ a different kind of son, ya know? Jack was always such a sensitive child. Even as a baby, you could tell that he was just hankerin’ for love ‘n affection.

“Jack was about five years old when it started. I tried to stop John at first, but that only riled ‘im up more. When John gets goin’, there ain’t no stoppin’ him. Well, at first Jack took it as any small child would; cryin’, beggin’ his daddy to stop, promisin’ he’d do better, even when he hadn’t done nothin’ wrong. When he got older, he started fightin’ back, or at least he tried. But after that thing with Murphy, he stopped givin’ fight. When John took the belt to him, he just lay there and let it happen, like he didn’t care no more. Like the fire had been beat out of him completely. It was awful, just awful. And I stood by ‘n watched. Watched my husband make my son’s life miserable and there wasn’t a thing I could do ta make it stop. Or maybe there was, and I just wasn’t brave enough ta do it.” She blinked, her eyes filling with tears. “That makes me just as guilty as John, don’t it?”

“I... I’m sure you did what you could, Ma’am,” Ennis offered. It was lame, he knew it, but it was the only fitting response he could think of. “There’s no hard feelin’s on his part. He’s real fond a you. I know that.”

She shook her head. “The love of one parent can’t make up for the abuse of the other. I tried, the good Lord knows I did-- I dressed him up warm when it was cold out, I made him tea with lemon when he had the flu, but I couldn’t explain ta my eight-year-old why his father didn’t love ‘im.” She studied her hands. “And the thing is, if I had to do it all again I don’t know if I would do any better. It ain’t Christian to leave yer husband ‘n break yer vows... but lettin’ yer child be beat to death can’t be what the Lord intended either.”

Ennis hesitated, unsure what else he could say to put this poor woman’s mind at ease. “It happens in a lot a families, Ma’am. I felt the back of my own dad’s hand plenty a times.”

“That don’t make it right.” She squared her shoulders somewhat, looking a bit embarrassed. “I don’t even know why I’m tellin’ you all this. I just feel like I’ve known ya for ages, Jack’s been talkin’ about you for so long.” She finally raised her eyes to his. “Do you have kids, Ennis?”

“Yes Ma’am, two girls. Alma Junior’s nineteen and Francie’s seventeen.” It didn’t slip past him that now the old man wasn’t present, she addressed him by his first name again.

“That’s nice.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “I always imagined it must be nice ta have grown-up daughters. You see ‘em often?”

“As often as I can. I was goin’ ta spend the weekend with ‘em, but I had to reschedule ‘cause a this stuff with Jack.”

Her smile wavered. “I’m real sorry you had to come all the way out here, Ennis. Bobby done told me you had ta take the day off for it, and you’re missin’ out on a weekend with yer daughters...”

“It’s no trouble at all, Ma’am,” Ennis assured her again. “I love my girls, but Jack...” He stumbled over his own words, struggled to get them out anyway. “Jack ‘n I are real good friends. Ain’t more than normal that I get my ass – uh, sorry – that I get myself down ta Texas to see ‘im.”

_Normal, yeah. Except that it took the man’s kid to remind you, asshole._

“Well, it’s mighty kind a you.” She fished out another photograph and handed it to Ennis, who took it unthinkingly, unprepared to have the wind knocked out of him the next moment, the image so powerful, and the emotion it evoked so potent, that it had his heart pounding like a bass drum.

“That one was taken in ‘63, shortly after he heard he got the sheepherdin’ job.” Mrs. Twist’s voice seemed to come to him from the far end of a tunnel. He just stared at the picture, a close-up of eighteen-year-old Jack, not looking into the camera but at something or someone a little to the side, his smile taking up half the photo. He was wearing the black hat and green plaid jacket Ennis knew from Brokeback days, and before he could rein himself in, Ennis lifted his hand and placed his fingers carefully on the photo, drawing them slowly along the collar of Jack’s coat. His fingers remembered touching the soft wool of that collar as though it had been only yesterday.

“Jack wore that coat every day on Brokeback,” he said. “Used it for just about everythin’. I’ve seen ‘im wear it, sleep on it, even carry lambs and pups in it.”

If she heard the crack in his voice, or noticed the effect the picture had on him, she gave no sign of it. She merely watched him as he sat there, clutching the picture, unwilling to relinquish this precious memento of the young man Ennis had believed existed only in his head now. Through the fog of his tears he looked at the picture and saw Jack, Jack as Ennis had seen him for the very first time twenty years ago, the picture taken just a few weeks before that, just a few weeks before they went up the mountain that made men out of both of them.

“I’m sorry.” He wiped at his eyes, embarrassed by his tears and struggling to get a hold of himself before he started weeping like a child in front of this nice old lady. “I don’t know why this gets ta me so. Jus’ seein’ Jack like that, so young ‘n happy… I dunno. Brings back some powerful strong memories from when we was up on Brokeback, Jack ‘n me.”

His emotional reaction didn’t seem to bother her. She looked at him with understanding, unfazed by his sniveling, and petted his knee somewhat awkwardly but with feeling. Softly she said, “That mountain was somethin’ special, wasn’t it?”

Ennis nodded, his fingers playing absently with the corners of the picture. “Yes Ma’am, it sure was. We was free there, you know? Not a care in the world, ‘cept for the coyotes. And maybe the beans. I didn’t mind ‘em much, but God, did Jack hate those beans. Aguirre was a tight-fisted kinda guy, didn’t care too much if we starved to death s’long as we looked after his sheep. Beans ‘n spuds was about all we got to eat. Me, I ain’t never been picky ‘bout what’s on the menu, but Jack got all over my ass – uh, ‘scuse me – like it was somethin’ I could fix. Nagged ‘n nagged until I shot us an elk just ta shut him up, right under the noses a Game ‘n Fish.”

He smiled at the memory of that day, the very first time law-abiding Ennis del Mar had been tempted to stray off the straight and narrow. And damn if he hadn’t enjoyed every second of it, the thrill of making the kill, the admiration he had seen in Jack’s eyes. And then the gruesome job of gutting and dressing the elk, stripping it completely of all its edible parts. Two hours of hard, efficient work it had taken them, the both of them shirtless and sweating in the afternoon sun, their arms up to the elbows in blood and gore. They hadn’t talked much, but every now and then they had exchanged gleeful looks, grinning at each other like the world was theirs. It was primal and exhilarating and Ennis had had a raging hard-on throughout almost the entire process; a nineteen-year-old body needs little stimulation, sometimes even a good baseball game could do the trick. But afterwards, when they had finished and washed up in the stream, Ennis had distanced himself, dropped to his knees as soon as he was out of Jack’s earshot and pumped himself to a spectacular orgasm, overcome with a powerful need he hadn’t known before then and hadn’t felt again until he woke up in the tent that one night and found himself pressed up against Jack’s backside.

Mrs. Twist closed the jewelry box with a soft click. “You can have that, if you want.”

“What?” He had been so immersed in his memories that he had completely forgotten where he was, and with whom.

“The picture. I want you ta have it.”

“But Ma’am...” Ennis grew even more flustered, his first impulse to refuse, but his protest sounded weak even to his own ears. “You have so few of your own already. Wouldn’t be right.”

He tried to give it back to her, but she ignored his outstretched hand, instead surprising him by cupping his cheek. “You’re a good man, Ennis,” she said sincerely, gazing directly into his eyes. “You would do me a pleasure by keepin’ that picture.”

He blinked and nodded speechlessly, her kindness almost getting the tears flowing again. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with him? “I... This...” He shook his head and finally settled for a soft, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

She stood up from the bed. “I’m gonna go make dinner. You like stew, Ennis?”

He nodded, a little taken aback by the sudden change of topic. “I sure do, Ma’am.”

He remained where he was a long time after she had left, brooding over the picture. It was a treasure he had not expected to find here, the only palpable reminder of something he had lost, something good, something he had never fully appreciated while he had it. One look at that smile was enough to know: twenty years hadn’t changed a thing. If he was nineteen again today, going up that mountain with Jack knowing what he knew now, he would do it all again, and more; shoot an elk out of hunting season, tell the sheep he was supposed to protect to go fuck themselves and stay in the tent with Jack all goddamn day long. And instead of throwing that punch at him, that final day, Ennis would lay him down in the grass and love him nice and slow and tell him, even if it was only a whisper in the ear, that he didn’t care about no money. That in fact, he would give his entire fortune – which, at the time, had been a couple of dollar notes kept in a coffeepot back home – to have that last month with him instead.

“I’m sorry, bud,” he said to the picture. “So sorry I punched ya. Shoulda never have done that, never.”

For whose sake he was saying those words, he had no idea. The man for whom they were intended was lying in a hospital bed down in Texas, and the eighteen-year-old in the photo just kept smiling, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Two decades under old man Twist’s reign hadn’t broken Jack. No, he had come out of his hellish childhood with a head full of plans and expectations for the future, and then Ennis del Mar had walked into his life.

“Bum deal, huh Jack?” Ennis sighed and put the picture down, changed his mind and picked it up again. He stood up and crossed the room to put it up on the small desk where he could see it, then started to unpack but thought the better of that too. This was Jack’s room, it would feel wrong somehow to spread his stuff all over it. His bag didn’t hold much more than pajamas and a toothbrush anyway.

He lay down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling as he turned the little toy cowboy round and round in his hands. He felt restless. In spite of Mrs. Twist’s rational objections he wished they could leave for Texas right away. He wished he didn’t have to go down and look that cruel old man in the eyes again. But most of all he wished that Bobby would call with news of Jack.

He must have nodded off for a while then, because although he thought he’d closed his eyes only for a moment, when he opened them again it was considerably darker in the room and Mrs. Twist was calling from down the stairs that dinner was ready.


	6. Souvenir

Dining with the Twists was as much a trial as Ennis had imagined it would be: long uncomfortable silences and the occasional snide comment from the old man, nipping all of his wife’s careful attempts at making polite conversation in the bud. One thing was different now though, because while Ennis had felt intimidated by Twist before, he now found himself sitting at the Twists’ table a little straighter, meeting the man’s icy gazes instead of looking away and ducking his head like a chastised child. Because floating before his mind’s eye was still the image of that smiling, bright-eyed little boy and his beloved dog, and the thought of the physical and mental abuse Jack had suffered at the hands of this man for so long steeled him and gave him strength.

“This is excellent, Ma’am.” He smiled at Mrs. Twist over his plate of stew. In this cold and hostile environment he was instinctively drawn to the one kindred spirit in the room. “Way back in the day, when we was up on Brokeback, Jack useta nag my ears off ‘bout how good a cook you was, ‘n I can see that for once, he wasn’t just braggin’.”

Mrs. Twist ducked her head slightly at that, as if to hide the small smile his words brought to her face. “He’s a good boy, Jack is,” she said, glancing furtively at the empty chair opposite Ennis. Earlier, when he came down for dinner, she had kindly asked him to leave that chair unoccupied, which told him that it was Jack’s place, his chair, the one he had sat on during all those family dinners, perhaps even from his earliest years on.

“Brokeback, huh?” Twist glared at Ennis as he unceremoniously spooned his stew, one elbow on the tabletop. “I remember that summer. Jack came back early from the job, tellin’ some lame-ass story about a storm or somethin’. Said he wanted ta stay here through the winter, help me out at the ranch, ‘n I let him, ‘cause I could use the help. Shoulda just sent him right out the door the moment he walked in, lookin’ like somebody had died or somethin’. Tell you what, that boy wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it beat him with a stick, ‘n that winter was the worst it’s ever been. Quite a relief when the rodeo season started again ‘n that worthless piece a shit took hisself ‘n his grumpy long face off to the road, tell ya that. The ranch is better off without ‘im.”

“That ain’t true, John,” Mrs. Twist said in a soft voice. “Jack loves the ranch, ‘n the land.”

“Yeah,” Twist snorted with disdain. “Loves it so damn much that he moved his fat rich ass all the way ta Texas, wastin’ his days in some wretched office. Did you know it was his wife got him that job?” Twist laughed scornfully, and his wife winced visibly at the sound of it. “Quite a man, that son of mine, ain’t he? I’m willin’ to bet he was just as worthless a sheepherder as he was a bull rider.” These words were accompanied by a grin and a challenging glance in Ennis’s direction.

Ennis sighed and put down his cutlery. “Actually, sir, Jack was in many ways a better sheepherder than I was.”

“Nice of you to stick up for ‘im,” Twist sneered, “but I ain’t buyin’ it. That boy was a disappointment from the day he was born.”

Ennis clenched and unclenched his first beneath the table, struggling to keep his voice level. “Sir, I’d appreciate it if you stopped talkin’ about Jack that way. What’s happenin’ to ‘im may not be much of a concern to you, but it is ta his Momma, and ta me, and these are hard enough times without you criticizin’ him and runnin’ him down all the time.”

The heavy silence that followed these words told Ennis that he had crossed a line, but he was beyond caring. He wasn’t nine years old anymore; he was a grown man, and goddammit, he didn’t have to sit here and tolerate Twist’s remarks, even if he was just a guest in the old rancher’s home.

Twist’s face turned red with anger. “You tellin’ me what ta do in my own house, Del Mar?”

“No sir,” Ennis said. “This is your turf and I’m respectful a that. But as your guest I’d like to get some respect in return. Jack’s my friend, ‘n I want to be able to eat this delicious meal your wife cooked without havin’ to listen to you draggin’ his name through the dirt.” Having said this, he picked up his spoon again and continued eating, because as a man of few words he considered everything said on the matter. Twist seemed to have plenty more to say, if the murderous expression on his face was anything to go by, but surprisingly he kept quiet. Once again, Ennis thought of young Jack, who’d had to tiptoe around this harsh, unpredictable man day after day after day. Ennis’s own childhood hadn’t exactly been a picnic either, but there was something devastating about the idea of Jack growing up here all alone in this empty shell of a house, with his tyrant of a father criticizing his every move. A sad little bird, caged and wingclipped, its song muted into silence, its colors slowly fading to grey.

“Sure is a nice spread you got here, sir,” Ennis said after a while, in an attempt to initiate more pleasant conversation. He didn’t usually have a problem with long silences, but he could feel the tension building between the three of them.

“Been in the family for five generations,” Twist gruffly replied. “Good, fertile land-- if it’s tended well.”

“What do you grow?”

“Wheat, mostly,” Twist grunted between two spoonfuls of stew. “Sometimes corn. ‘n We keep Herefords ‘n a couple a chickens for the beef ‘n the eggs.”

“No sheep?”

Twist grimaced at his plate, and Sophia softly said, “Not anymore. We useta have ‘em, but we had a bluetongue outbreak in the area couple a years back. Never got around to settin’ up a new herd.”

Ennis nodded sympathetically. Epidemics like those were every rancher’s worst nightmare-- they could rear their ugly heads anywhere, anytime, and had sent many a struggling farm into bankruptcy.

It was in fact not the first time Ennis heard about the dramatic occurrence that had forced the Twists to have their entire flock of sheep be put down, but it wasn’t until now that he remembered the night Jack had mentioned it to him in passing, between two drags of a cigarette lit only moments after they’d finished a glorious fuck the sheer force of which could have turned milk into butter. Ennis pushed the unwelcome memory away quickly, going on to ask more questions about the farm and the cattle and thus steering the conversation away from the dreaded subject, the one thing that bound him to these people. The strategy worked-- instead of spewing bile about the disappointment and the failure that was his son, Twist answered Ennis’s questions and talked about his farm like any other rancher would: with a combination of pride and self-lament, because while the Twist estate surely had potential, running a business in these parts was a constant struggle. Mrs. Twist visibly relaxed as something that vaguely resembled a polite conversation developed between her husband and their guest, even though she did not contribute to the discussion herself, and quietly got up to clear the table when all were done eating. This immediately prompted Ennis to get up as well and start helping her clean up, despite her repeated attempts to make him sit down again. Twist fell back into his silent grumbling, his hawk-like eyes following Sophia and Ennis’s every movement with suspicion, as if he was expecting them to do something illegal. He soon seemed to grow bored with it, though, and getting up from the table he donned his hat and went out without a word, the old screen door slamming shut behind him.

“You know you don’t need ta do this, Ennis,” Sophia said as she stood at the sink washing up, while Ennis busied himself with a tea towel. “You’re a guest in our house.”

“Ain’t no trouble, Ma’am. It’s very good a you to have me.”

“We don’t have guests often,” she said quietly. “It’s just John and me most a the time. I like havin’ people around, it livens things up a little. I just wish the circumstances were different.”

Afterwards, Ennis went out to have a smoke on the front porch, looking up at the wide dark sky and imagining that these were the same stars Jack had been looking at when he was a boy, dreaming of growing up and getting out, away from Lightning Flat. Maybe Jack had been standing and smoking in this exact same spot, the night before he left for Signal all those years ago.

Ennis knew better than to hope that Jack would give him a warm welcome tomorrow, if he was able to give a welcome at all. But any sort of greeting, no matter how cold, would make this whole undertaking worthwhile. Ennis would happily subject himself to any and all of Jack’s verbal flagellations if that meant his friend wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his days as a vegetable. Shivering, Ennis crushed out the cigarette beneath the heel of his boot, pocketed his lighter and went back inside, announcing to Mrs. Twist that he was going to try and get some sleep for the long journey they had ahead of them.

Upstairs, he found Jack’s room completely dark. He switched on the little bedside lamp, took off his boots and socks and laid himself down carefully on the narrow old bed, keeping himself very still as though he was about to spend the night in an ancient Egyptian tomb and would somehow disturb the deceased pharaoh’s spirit if he moved too much.

He hadn’t lain there for more than five minutes, open-eyed and wide awake, when there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Yeah?” he said, sitting up quickly.

Slowly, as if he was walking on valuable porcelain, Sophia Twist came into the room. In her arms she held a quilted blanket, which she hugged to her chest as though she needed the extra warmth.

“Wanted ta bring you an extra blanket,” she explained. “Can git cold up here at night.”

“That’s mighty kind, Ma’am, thank you.” Ennis accepted the quilt somewhat bashfully. It was strange to be mothered by a woman he’d known for only a few hours, but even at thirty-nine there was some comfort to be found in the knowledge that one is watched over and cared for, especially if it is a feeling that doesn’t come around too often.

Mrs. Twist didn’t leave right away, instead started fussing with the window, rearranging stuff on the old desk. The little wooden cowboy was lifted in loving fingers and put back in its rightful place, some dust brushed away, and Ennis looked on with an aching heart while this lonely old lady tended to her precious shrine.

“So did Jack play baseball?” he asked, nodding at the old glove on the top shelf. It looked worn, the leather cracked, like it had been put to good use in its better days.

“Not really,” she answered. “I mean Jack never had any other kids ta play with, and his father... Anyway. It was a hand-me-down from one a my sister’s kids. They live all the way up in Montana.”

Ennis looked down at his feet and wondered if this story could become any more depressing. “No more calls from Bobby?”

Mrs. Twist shook her head slowly, involuntarily straightening her skirt with her thin weathered hands. “He said he’d call if there was news. Guess everythin’s still unchanged.”

Ennis nodded. “It’s gonna be okay, Ma’am. I know a thing or two about Jack, ‘n he ain’t the type a guy just fades quietly into the night. He’s a real fighter.” He said these things for his own benefit as well as for hers, but there was more than wishful thinking involved. Ennis had an unshakeable faith in Jack’s indestructibility. From the very beginning, Jack had amazed Ennis with his ability to bounce back from setbacks-- no matter how often he got thrown or how hard he got stomped on, Jack Twist got back on that bull, always. Ennis couldn’t for the life of him imagine that it would be any different this time. Jack had never made a quiet exit in his life and he wasn’t going to make one now; no way.

“Well,” Mrs. Twist said with a little smile, “I guess I’ll go ‘n make us some sandwiches for the trip tomorrow. What do you like on your bread, Ennis, ham or-”

Suddenly, Mrs. Twist stopped mid-sentence and seemed to freeze where she stood, her eyes flitting towards the half-open door. Ennis was about to speak when he heard it too: the sound of footsteps on the stair. The temperature in the room instantly seemed to drop a few degrees, and Ennis felt, irrationally, a shiver of fear traveling down his spine. This, he imagined, must be how Jack had felt all those years, lying in his bed and waiting for his daddy to come up and beat the living hell out of him for whatever he had done wrong that day.

The footsteps drew closer, until they stopped just outside the room. The next moment the door swung open, revealing John Twist, who looked distrustingly from his wife to Ennis. “What’s goin’ on in here?” he demanded, stepping across the threshold. This drew a barely audible gasp from Mrs. Twist, and Ennis guessed from the stunned and mortified expression on her face that this was probably the first time in many years that Twist set foot in the sanctuary that was Jack’s room.

“We was just talkin’, sir,” Ennis answered calmly. “Your wife was so kind ta bring me an extra blanket for the night.”

Twist ventured further inside, glancing around as if to reacquaint himself with the room. What he saw clearly didn’t please him very much. “Why we keepin’ this room anyway,” he groused. “Just sits here unused, collectin’ dust. Can use the space for more useful things.”

“No, John,” Mrs. Twist said helplessly, wringing her hands. “Please.”

His trademark look of disgust never leaving his face, Twist continued his inspection, while two pairs of eyes watched him anxiously from two sides of the room. Ennis noticed that unlike his wife, he didn’t touch anything, keeping his hands to himself as he moved through the room, as if touching Jack’s old stuff would give him a rash. After resting his eyes on Ennis for a few moments, Twist shifted his attention to the closet space near the foot end of the bed. From a quick investigation earlier that day Ennis had learned that there was still some of Jack’s old clothing in there – jeans, a couple of coats, a pair of boots Ennis thought he recognized – but nothing that had piqued his interest the way the pictures or the toy cowboy had.

“Even if we gotta keep all that other junk, I can’t see no reason why we oughta hang on ta these,” Twist said, pointing at the leftover garments in Jack’s closet and addressing his wife. “Unless you wanta get all sentimental over your son’s old cast-offs.”

“John,” Mrs. Twist said shrilly. “There ain’t no need ta do this now. I’ll call the Salvation Army sometime, ask if they have use for those old clothes. All right? Come on, let’s go downstairs ‘n give Ennis here a chance ta get some sleep. I’ll fix you a nice cuppa coffee.”

“Don’t want no coffee,” Twist retorted, ignoring his wife’s pleas and going on to nose in Jack’s old wardrobe as he moved further into the closet. Ennis was no longer paying attention to him; his eyes were on Mrs. Twist, who looked pale as a sheet and ready to pass out from fear.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” Ennis asked as quietly as he could, but if she heard him, she gave no sign of it. She had eyes only for the old tyrant, who had grown strangely quiet inside the closet.

“Ma’am?”

She looked at him helplessly, shaking her head and opening her mouth as if to say something, but she never got the chance.

“What the hell is this?” Twist appeared in the doorframe, holding out something that looked like one of Jack’s blue denim shirts on a thin wire hanger. With eyes that were narrowed to tiny slits he glared at his wife, who hid her face behind her hands in obvious distress. Not quite understanding her reaction, Ennis took a closer look at Twist and the shirt. It looked stiff from long suspension, but didn’t appear to be in bad shape otherwise. The fabric showed only sporadic signs of wear and tear, and looked relatively clean, save for a big dark stain on the sleeve, near the cufflinks. The stain was clearly old, and in the semi dark it was hard to tell what the substance was-- oil perhaps, or mud, or... Suddenly Ennis stiffened on the narrow bed, a deadly chill descending upon him.

“Well? Answer me,” Twist demanded when no reply came. “What is this, dammit, and what’s it doin’ in my son’s closet?”

Ennis wanted to say something, offer some kind of explanation, but the words wouldn’t come. It was as if his vocal chords had shriveled up and died inside his throat.

There was another shirt underneath the blue one. It was well hidden, and due to the bad lighting Ennis hadn’t seen it right away, but there it was, the old plaid shirt Ennis hadn’t seen since August 13th 1963-- a date that was forever engraved in his memory.

He’d thought he’d lost that shirt. He’d thought he’d accidentally left it behind on the mountain, and oh, how he’d scolded himself for it. Even spattered with blood, that shirt was one of Ennis’s most cherished possessions, and he couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as to lose it. And now, twenty years later and in the most unlikely place imaginable, he learned the truth of the matter at last, and it was as bizarre as it was disturbing. There was no way the shirt could have ended up in Jack’s possession by accident. Whether it had been premeditated or a spur-of-the-moment thing wasn’t really relevant. Fact was that Jack, his jaw nearly broken from Ennis’s punch, had stealthily taken one of Ennis’s personal belongings and kept it for twenty years. It suddenly made so much sense that Ennis wondered why he had not thought of it before. If anyone was capable of doing such a reckless, absurd, sentimental thing, it was Jack fucking Twist.

_Oh, Jack. You crazy, stupid, darlin’ fool._

“Have you both turned inta salt pillars?” Twist snapped. “Give me a fuckin’ answer!”

Ennis looked up at Mrs. Twist, who had lowered her hands and was gazing back at him in defeat and quiet understanding. Only now did it occur to him that she must have known about the shirts and understood their significance. Until very recently the mere notion would have had Ennis wishing for a loaded gun to put to his head, but whether it was the shock or the reassuring softness of Sophia Twist’s doe brown eyes, Ennis found he could not get himself to care. And as for Twist himself... why should the opinion of such a man, who was vicious and cruel and had plenty of sins of his own to repent, matter to him?

“You got somethin’ ta tell me, Del Mar?” Twist’s eyes were narrowed, his voice a soft hiss.

“No sir,” Ennis said, glad to find that his voice had returned, “nothin’.”

“Don’t try ‘n fool with me, Del Mar,” Twist snarled. “I ain’t blind. You know more about this, or my last name ain’t Twist.”

“I do,” Ennis said with all the calmness he could muster. “But with all due respect, sir, I ain’t gonna tell you nothin’ about it. That’s between Jack ‘n me.”

He was not surprised to see Twist turning red in the face at this, his features contorting with the rage of a man unused to being contradicted. He looked remarkably intimidating for a man his stature, and it was easy to see how this man could have inspired fear in a boy of barely six years old, too young to understand why his father hated him. But Ennis looked at Twist with different eyes. He did not aspire this man’s affection or approval, and if Twist wanted a fight, he could damn well get one.

Twist took a step closer, his eyes filled with hatred for the younger man on the bed. The conflict that had been simmering between them all evening had finally reached boiling point, the gloves were coming off and both men knew it.

“Are you a faggot, Del Mar?” Twist said softly, whispered almost. His words dripped with poison. “Are you a filthy homo who turned my son into some lovesick girl? Speak up, Del Mar. What the hell happened on that fuckin’ mountain?”

Hearing those words from Twist, spoken in such a hateful tone, Ennis could not help but flinch away from the rancher’s sharp, knowing gaze. His old paranoia flared up again, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead like it had during that confrontation with Alma some years ago. He could still remember the paralyzing fear that had pinned him to the ground when his ex-wife confronted him with the shameful truth, and all he had been able to do was to deny everything, in spite of the overwhelming evidence against him. It was so tempting to do the same this time. It would be so easy. Twist was bluffing-- he had nothing to go on except the shirts he held in his hands, and Ennis did not believe for one moment that the old rancher truly understood what they represented, or why Jack had kept them, unwashed, unused, in his closet for twenty years.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth, dammit!” Twist shouted. “What did you do to my boy, you fuckin’ queer?”

Ennis could have laughed at the irony of the question. _Your boy all but begged me ta fuck ‘im six ways from Sunday, you old piece a shit, ‘n I was happy ta oblige!_ Instead he leapt to his feet and crossed the difference between himself and Twist in the same heartbeat-- quite a feat for someone who, as Jack had joked on more than one occasion, usually moved like an old cow. He planted himself in front of John Twist, using the fact that he was a head and a half taller than the old man to good advantage.

“Your boy?” he repeated slowly, in a menacing voice he had used only once or twice before in his life. “You lost the right ta callin’ him that the day you started beatin’ the shit outta him, you old bastard. You ain’t never been a daddy to ‘im, so what gives you the right ta pass judgement on me? I ain’t no saint either, and God knows I didn’t always treat ‘im the way I should have, but I care about your son a lot more than you ever did, Twist.” He paused a moment before adding, “A whole lot more.”

It took just about every ounce of his willpower to keep looking Twist in the eye after that statement, which was as close as he had ever gotten to an admission. Even Twist seemed taken aback, as if he had in fact expected Ennis to deny the whole thing.

“You disgust me,” he finally brought out, teeth gnashing. “I hope you’ll burn in hell.”

“I probably will,” Ennis replied. “But you first, Twist. The good Lord ain’t too fond of your sort, neither, you know.”

“Fuck you, Del Mar,” Twist spat. “I want you off my land right now. There ain’t no place in my house for your kind. Pack your stuff ‘n get the hell outta here.”

“I’ll be happy to. But I ain’t leavin’ before I’ve had some proper sleep, and I ain’t leavin’ without the missus. This trip ta Texas means a lot to us both, ‘n I ain’t come all the way out here ta let a big bully like you fuck it all up.” Ennis planted his hands on his hips. “So what’s it gonna be, Twist? You gonna chase me off the land with a pitchfork, or you think you ‘n me can act like grown-ups for a few more hours, for your wife’s sake?”

John Twist opened his mouth, no doubt to hurl a new series of curses at Ennis, but something made him shut it again. What it was Ennis never knew, but after a few moments of quiet glowering Twist shrugged and said with a sour expression, “Won’t chase ya out the door, Del Mar. You ain’t worth the trouble.”

“Okay then.” Ennis reached for the shirts, his trembling hands betraying that his confidence was just an acting performance. He dared not contemplate what might happen to this precious memento if he did not pry it from Twist’s hands. “If you don’t mind, sir... Those won’t be goin’ to no Salvation Army, not as long as I have anythin’ ta say about it.”

Twist narrowed his eyes. “You can have ‘em,” he said with loathing, but instead of handing Ennis the shirts he dropped them on the floor and spat on them before turning on his heel and marching out the room.

Ennis bent down to pick up the shirts, joints cracking as he did so, and hastened to wipe the spit off the blue denim that had once been so familiar. On closer inspection, it was faded and dusty, and when he lifted it to his face to smell it he could only regretfully conclude that the long years in a stuffy closet had erased all traces of Jack’s scent. Still, just holding these shirts brought back the memory of the mountain, the smell of campfire and sheep and wild columbine, and Ennis could feel his heart fall wide open as he stood there pressing his face to the fabric, wishing that he could freeze time and stay in this moment for good. He had completely forgotten about his surroundings and about Mrs. Twist, only becoming aware again of her presence when she moved. He grew instantly self-conscious and lowered the shirts awkwardly.

“Ma’am,” he said, “he’d better not be givin’ you trouble about this, or I’ll...” He didn’t finish his sentence, because he wasn’t sure what he would do, actually. He didn’t even know why he was saying this, but he felt such a need to protect this small, sweet lady against that vicious creature she was married to. He wondered if Jack had felt the same way.

She shook her head, telling him with a gesture not to bother. “This is not how I wanted you ta find ‘em, Ennis,” she said quietly. “I didn’t expect John ta set foot in here ever again.”

“So… I guess you knew.” Ennis swallowed. “How long for?”

Smiling sadly, Mrs. Twist put a hand on his arm. It was warm and dry, unlike his own. “A mother knows when her child’s heart’s been broken, Ennis. My Jack ain’t never been the same after that summer a ’63.”

With that, she turned and left Ennis where he stood, clutching the shirts to his chest and feeling more desperately lost than any shipwrecked man at open sea ever could.


	7. Amarillo

The next morning, Ennis pulled away from the house at 5 AM sharp, Mrs. Twist in the passenger seat next to him. He hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of the old man since their shouting match the night before, and he didn’t regret that one bit. He would be more than grateful if he never had to share a space with that spiteful old bastard again in his lifetime, and that was a fact. Tucked away in his duffel bag were his treasures-- Jack’s picture and of course the shirts, including the hanger. He did not know yet what he was going to do with them, but at least they were now safe from Twist’s groping fingers. With Mrs. Twist’s permission, he had also taken the toy cowboy and the other sparse keepsakes of Jack’s childhood, because there was a realistic chance John would plunder and burn everything while his wife was gone.

This visit had been emotionally draining, and he had dreaded it for good reason, but against all odds, Ennis found himself driving away from the Twist residence with his head held high. This was especially surprising because he had all but confessed the truth about his relationship with Jack in the presence of both his parents. For twenty years, he had feared their secret would get out, and now that it was, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. That Twist was disgusted with him was of no concern-- the feeling was mutual. And Mrs. Twist, who had known the truth all that time, was such a kindly lady that any embarrassment he may have felt soon dissipated. She had a thermos of coffee on her knees and was wearing what he guessed were her Sunday clothes.

“I sure am sorry about last night, Ma’am,” he said as the Chevy zoomed down the interstate. “Didn’t mean to cause no trouble.”

“Wasn’t your fault, Ennis,” she said kindly. “Did you get a few hours a sleep? We have a long drive ahead, ‘n I am useless behind the wheel.”

“I slept just fine, Ma’am, thank you,” Ennis lied. He had in fact long been kept awake by last night’s events-- being on Jack’s childhood turf, the confrontation with Twist the elder, the shirts. It all had given him more food for thought than he felt equipped to handle. It was a relief to be on the road at last - the route mapped out, the destination clear - even though he wasn’t sure what he’d find at the end of it. But it would all be worth it if only Jack opened his eyes and saw his momma there. Ennis wouldn’t ask for much more than a smile as a reward for his trouble, even if that smile wasn’t directed at him.

“Mind if I roll down the window ‘n smoke?” he asked. His fingers had been itching for the past thirty minutes.

“Not at all. You just do what you always do when you’re drivin’, Ennis, I’m just along for the ride. And if you want a sandwich or a cuppa coffee, just holler.”

He glanced at her as he flicked his lighter. “So, you ain’t never been ta Texas before?”

“No, John can’t leave the ranch. Jack offered ta take me a few times, but I didn’t have the heart ta leave John alone. Man would be lost without someone ta cook his dinners ‘n wash his socks.” She sighed. “Wish I had done it, though. Ain’t right for Bobby ta meet his gramma under these circumstances.”

“He seems like a good kid,” Ennis offered.

Mrs. Twist nodded. “Oh yeah, I know Jack’s mighty proud a him, although he’s had some concerns. He didn’t seem too thrilled Bobby was growin’ up ta be a city boy. I think Jack woulda liked ta see ‘im take up rodeo, showin’ him the ropes ‘n passing on the tradition, as it were.”

“I never saw Jack ride one of ‘em bulls,” Ennis said. “I wish I could’ve, even just once.”

“Oh, he wasn’t no star at it, by no means, but he had his days. I didn’t really care if he lost or won, ta be honest, I was just glad every time he didn’t get trampled.” She turned her head and gazed out the window for a few moments. “You wanna tell me about your girls, Ennis?”

Ennis cleared his throat. “They’re good girls, Ma’am. Junior’s got a good head on her shoulders, never does anythin’ without thinkin’ it over first. Francie’s a spitfire, can get real explosive when somethin’ don’t please her.” His lips twitched ruefully. “She gets that from me, I suppose. When the girls was young, things weren’t always so peaceful at our house. Their momma ‘n me… well, we had our troubles. It never came ta blows or nothin’, but we often had words in front a the girls. Shames me awful, now.”

“You still married?”

“No, Ma’am. Alma, that’s her name, is now remarried, with a new kid even ‘n another on the way. I think she’s happy, ‘n we’re civil, for the sake a the girls.”

“That’s good.” She gave him a long look, asking gently, “How ‘bout you, Ennis, are you happy?”

The question was unexpected, and Ennis’s throat clogged up tight. He lifted trembling fingers to his mouth to take a drag. “Some people don’t deserve ta be. I done hurt a lot a people in my life, Ma’am, been selfish ‘n stupid a lot a the time. Bein’ happy’s not in the cards for me, I reckon.”

His eyes were on the road, but he could feel her gaze upon him. “Do your girls love their daddy, Ennis?”

He harrumphed, flicking the cigarette butt out the window. “Guess so.”

“Then you musta done somethin’ right. The good Lord doesn’t want ya to suffer for your mistakes, Ennis, He wants ya to learn from ‘em. A man who’s loved ‘n been loved in return hasn’t led a wasted life, ‘n I can tell that you’re a man with love ta give.”

Ennis lit another cigarette. Jack’s mother seemed determined to see the good in him, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her how wrong she was. Much as he hated it, John Twist was probably right-- he was going to hell, if not for being queer, then for all the lying and cheating he had done because of it.

They didn’t speak a whole lot during that drive to Texas. Mrs. Twist wasn’t a woman of many words, and thoughts of Jack in the hospital kept them both occupied. They soon left the scenery of Wyoming behind them, driving through new and unfamiliar landscapes, but Ennis was in no mood to enjoy his first foray into the world outside his native state. He smoked a lot of cigarettes and drank most of the coffee in the thermos to keep his jitters under control, because it would do no good if he arrived at the hospital a nervous wreck. They stopped once or twice to fill up the tank and had a quick meal at a truck stop diner, but even those short, necessary breaks made Ennis restless. Mrs. Twist, to her credit, seemed a lot more composed than he was, perhaps because she had her faith to support her. She even struck up a conversation with the waitress at the diner who took their orders.

“We’re goin’ ta see my son in the hospital, in Amarillo,” she said when asked where they were headed. “He’s been in a car accident.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the waitress said with what appeared to be genuine sympathy. “I hope it’s nothin’ serious?”

“Last we heard, it wasn’t sure yet. We’re hopin’ ta find out more in a coupla hours.” Without being asked, Sophia fished a picture from her purse and showed it to the woman. “His name is Jack.”

The waitress smiled as she studied the picture. “He’s a handsome fella, ain’t he? Beautiful eyes. Well, I sure hope he’s gonna be O.K., ma’am. I’ll keep ‘im in my prayers.”

“Thank you,” Sophia said, closing her purse. She waited until the waitress had left and then pushed the picture across the table. “This here’s one a Jack’s old weddin’ pictures. I suppose it ain’t appropriate ta carry around anymore, but it’s too nice ta throw away.”

Ennis picked up the photo. Jack and Lureen were both in it, Jack in his wedding tux and Lureen looking sassy in a dress that must have cost her daddy a small fortune. Jack was smiling for the photographer, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Did you know they was gettin’ a divorce, Ma’am?” he asked. “Did Jack mention it last time he was visitin’?”

“He didn’t say it with so many words, but I got the feelin’ somethin’ was brewin’. I knew he wasn’t happy, that wasn’t nothin’ new, but last May… I dunno, there was somethin’ in his eyes told me he was workin’ somethin’ out, real determined-like. So when he called me with the news, it wasn’t no big surprise for me.”

Ennis licked his bottom lip pensively. “Did you try ‘n dissuade ‘im?”

“No point in that, Ennis. Jack is a grown man, ‘n as stubborn as them bulls he used ta ride. Him ‘n Lureen are a lot alike, from what I heard. You wanna know somethin’?”

“What, Ma’am?”

She lowered her voice, as though she was afraid the good Lord would take offense. “Part a me was proud a him for havin’ the heart ta take a step like that. If that marriage was makin’ him unhappy, not my place ta talk ‘im back in. Can’t help but think sometimes that I should’ve done the same thing when John…” She fell silent, leaving the rest unsaid. Folding her hands around her cup of coffee, she concluded, “I know my son ain’t perfect, but he’s got a real good heart, ‘n I’m proud a him no matter what. Always will be. Is your folks still alive, Ennis?”

“No, Ma’am, they died when I was a kid.” _In a car accident_ , he almost added, but he stopped himself just in time.

She reached across the table and put her hand on his. “They would be proud a you, too,” she said with such an air of finality that it didn’t occur to him to contradict.

They finally reached Amarillo city limits by late afternoon, but lost some time finding their way to the hospital. St. Sebastian’s was a large facility located just outside the city center, and the parking lot was a beehive of people coming and going, some of them in wheelchairs or sporting casts. Ennis parked the car, turned off the engine and sighed. “I’m scared,” he said. It was the first time he admitted it even to himself.

Mrs. Twist hadn’t moved either, her hands clutching the purse on her lap. “So’m I, Ennis. But you ain’t gonna let me go in by myself, are ya?”

Ennis closed his eyes, reminding himself that if there ever was a time to see things through to the very end, this was it. “No Ma’am,” he said, unlocking his seatbelt and opening the door. “Let’s go ‘n find out how your son is doin’.”

It was an honest-to-God hospital they entered a minute later, with an honest-to-God hospital smell that caused Ennis’s stomach to turn. The lobby was cool and clinical, crowded with personnel, visitors and patients in gowns. From the moment they set foot inside the building, Ennis let Mrs. Twist take the wheel and do all the talking.

“We’re here to see my son, Jack Twist,” Sophia told the lady at the reception. “Last we heard, he was on ICU after a car accident.”

“Let me see.” The woman consulted one of the hefty binders she had in front  of her. “Yes, he’s still there. Room 537 A. You can take the elevator to the fifth floor, report at the nurses’ station. They’ll give you an update.”

The ride on the elevator was easily the longest of Ennis’s life, not in the last place because it stopped on every floor to let people in and out. Part of him expected Jack to appear at any moment, but realistically, he knew there was a chance he’d never see Jack again, a chance Jack would never know Ennis had finally done it, had finally come to Texas, for all the wrong reasons.

The hospital was a labyrinth, like all hospitals are, and by the time they finally found the ICU, Ennis’s nerves were frayed. Feeling useless and out of place, he tailed after Mrs. Twist, who marched up to the nurses’ station straight as a rod.

“Can I help you?” a nurse asked. She was young and fresh-faced, friendly but professional.

“We’re here to see my son, Jack Twist.”

“Afternoon visiting hours are over, Ma’am.”

“We just got here from Wyomin’ by car,” Sophia explained with a calmness Ennis admired; he himself was getting more agitated by the moment. “How is he doin’?”

“Mr. Twist is Dr. Frolander’s patient, Ma’am. Please have a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

They did as the nurse suggested and sat down on the hard plastic seats in the waiting area, Ennis biting his thumbnail and jiggling his leg. “Why won’t they tell us anythin’?”

“Is the doctor’s job, Ennis. Not our place ta question. Let’s try ‘n be patient.”

They must have waited for about ten minutes when a man in a doctor’s coat approached, stethoscope slung around his neck and a clipboard under his arm. “Mrs. Twist?”

Sophia rose, still clutching her purse. Ennis got up also, taking off his hat as he had been taught to do when facing an authority figure.

“I’m Dr. Berndt Frolander.” The doctor shook her hand. He was tall and slender, with blond hair and steel-rimmed glasses. He spoke with a slight Scandinavian accent and looked like he was in his mid forties. “I was assigned your son’s case when he was brought in last Thursday. As I’m sure you know, he sustained some significant trauma in a one-sided car accident, and the fact that he did not regain consciousness raised serious concerns. In such cases, the patient sometimes slips into an irreversible coma.”

Sophia nodded, riveted, staring at the doctor as though she would have pulled the words from his mouth, if she could.

“The good news is that your son woke up about two hours ago. I have examined him, tested his brain functions, and at the present I have no reason to believe he sustained any permanent damage. His brain should heal normally, and I expect him to make a full recovery.”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Sophia sighed, closing her eyes briefly. Ennis also released a breath he felt he’d been holding forever, suddenly feeling weak in the knees.

“But I have a few other concerns regarding Mr. Twist’s health,” the doctor continued. “His general level of fitness is substandard for a man under forty. He appears to be a heavy smoker, and his liver is in bad shape due to excessive alcohol consumption. His blood work revealed he consumed four times the legal amount of alcohol before he got behind the wheel that night, and his liver suggests it’s been going on for a while.” He paused. “If he doesn’t make a few drastic lifestyle changes, he will be at high risk for liver failure, lung cancer, stroke, COPD and other pulmonary and cardiovascular diseases. I don’t mean to sound callous, Ma’am, but this accident may turn out to be a blessing in disguise. When I shared my concerns with your son, he acknowledged his drinking problem and seemed open to the idea of seeking professional help. That in itself is an encouraging sign, but I strongly recommend that he join some sort of programme to help him overcome his addiction. I’m told that Mr. Twist is recently divorced, which is unfortunate, since having a strong support system vastly increases a patient’s chances of success.”

Mrs. Twist lowered her eyes. “I understand, doctor. I will be on ‘im like flies on raw meat ta make sure he gets the help he needs. Thank you for everythin’ you’ve done for my Jack.”

Ennis’s vision was swimming. _And I kept offerin’ him whiskey, passin’ the bottle like it was lemonade. This is on you, too, Del Mar. But oh God, I didn’t know he had gotten that bad, I didn’t know._ And his next thought: _Why didn’t no one step in ‘n help ‘im, dammit?_

“Can we see ‘im?” Mrs. Twist asked. “I know visitin’ hours are over, but we just drove in from Wyomin’.”

“I’ll allow it, but only family.” The doctor turned to Ennis. “You are…?”

“Ennis del Mar,” Sophia said before Ennis could answer. “He’s my sister’s son, ‘n Jack’s cousin. We drove here in his car.”

There was a brief silence, and Ennis, who could barely believe the God-fearing Sophia Twist would tell her son’s physician such a blatant lie, almost didn’t succeed in returning the doctor’s gaze.

“One visitor at a time,” Dr. Frolander finally said. “If you have any concerns or further questions, you can ask the nurses or have me paged.”

After the doctor left, Ennis said with lowered voice, “Ain’t right, Ma’am. If the Newsomes were here, that story wouldn’t fly. And I’m not even sure Jack wants ta see me. We had words last time we spoke.”

“You didn’t come all this way just ta be turned away at the door,” she said. “I’ll go in first ‘n prepare ‘im. If he doesn’t wanna see ya, he’s man enough ta tell me.” She threw one last glance back at him before entering room 537 A. “And remember ta call me Aunt Sophia from now on.”

***

Jack’s eyes were closed when Sophia entered, and she lingered by the door for a few moments to acquaint herself with the changes in her son’s appearance. He was badly bruised, one eye swollen, his broken arm in a cast. An intravenous drip, pain meds probably, was hooked up to his uninjured arm. His skin was pale and faintly yellowish. Sophia pressed one fist to her mouth, struggling to get her emotions under control as she approached her only child. “Jackie.”

His eyes fluttered open, then grew wide in astonishment when they landed on her face. “Mom? Momma?” His voice sounded different, low and raspy. No wonder-- he hadn’t used it in almost three days.

“Yes, Jack, it’s me.” She leaned down and kissed him softly on the cheek. “You done scared me good, son.”

With eyes like saucers he stared up at her, disbelieving, as though he was seeing a phantom. “You come all the way ta Amarillo? How? Is Dad here too?”

She shook her head. “No, honey, Dad’s at the ranch.”

“I don’t understand.” He looked completely lost.

Sophia sat down in the visitor’s chair, taking his hand. “I will explain everythin’. Bobby called me, two days ago, ta let us know what happened.”

“Bobby…? Have you met ‘im?”

“Not yet, Jack, but I will, ‘n I’m lookin’ forward to it. He sounds like a fine young man. I just got here, straight from Wyomin’. Left early this mornin’.”

“But how?” he asked again. “You don’t drive, ‘n if Dad-”

She squeezed his hand gently. “Someone gave me a ride, Jack. You’ll never guess who.”

He stared at her, blankly, and she returned his gaze steadily until it dawned on him. “Not Ennis, surely,” he whispered. “Couldn’ta been. Ennis don’t travel. Can’t hardly be bothered ta walk ta the grocery store down the block.”

Sophia didn’t speak, letting him work it out on his own.

“Momma, be serious.” His voice broke. “You really sayin’ you ‘n Ennis drove here, together? In that piece a shit truck a his?”

“No, was a Chevy, good as new.” She stroked his arm lovingly. “He’s a real nice man, Jack. So kind, well-mannered ‘n polite. He’s really worried about you. He’s just outside, waitin’.”

Jack started to cry. She hadn’t seen him cry in years, and it just about broke her heart. “I can’t believe it,” he said hoarsely, repeating the words again and again. “I can’t believe he came.”

Sophia took a handkerchief from her purse and used it to dab at his tears, carefully avoiding his swollen eye. “A course he came, Jackie. He cares about you.”

“Coulda fooled me.” He looked away, embarrassed by his emotional response. “I’m so sorry, momma. Not just for bein’ so stupid ta drink ‘n drive, but for everythin’. I don’t care about Dad, but I never wanted ta be a disappointment ta you.”

“Don’t say that, Jackie. You weren’t never a disappointment ta me, never. You’re my boy, ‘n I love you, ‘n that’s all I’m gonna say about that. I just wanna see ya happy ‘n healthy, ‘n making smarter decisions.”

“I’m gonna work on that soon ‘s I get outta here.” Jack’s puffy eyes met Sophia’s again. “What happened, ma? What happened after Bobby called?”

“He said he was gonna try ‘n find a way ta get me ta Texas. He didn’t give me no specifics, but I got a feelin’ he was plannin’ somethin’. Hour later, he calls again ‘n says he found someone willin’, a buddy a yours, Ennis del Mar.”

Jack swallowed, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Yeah, I… I gave ‘im Ennis’s number, told ‘im ta call in case somethin’…” He didn’t finish.

“Next day, Ennis comes drivin’ up ta the house, gets outta the car, greets me real shy-like. He wanted ta get on the road right away, but I said it wasn’t no use. Offered ‘im ta stay in your room for the night.”

“Ennis was in Lightnin’ Flat? In my old room?” Jack grew paler still. “Did he meet Dad?”

“Course he did, honey. Wasn’t a huge success.”

“I can imagine.” Jack exhaled slowly. “Jesus, ma.”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, Jack.”

“Sorry. But damn-- I just can’t believe it. Was Dad very mean to ‘im?”

Sophia shifted in her seat. “Things were said that I won’t repeat. But Ennis didn’t let it get to ‘im. He stood up ta yer Dad ‘n turned his words right around on ‘im.”

“No way. Ennis?” A careful smile was beginning to form on Jack’s face. “You’re not makin’ this up, are ya?”

“It’s the honest ta God truth.”

Jack closed his eyes, as if savoring the idea of John Twist meeting his match, finally, and in Ennis of all people. “What else?”

“Well, Ennis ‘n I talked about you some. We had stew for dinner.” Sophia paused, thinking of the intimately entwined shirts that now rested in the back of the Chevy. “We left the ranch at five this mornin’, ‘n here we are.”

“Here y’are, in Texas at last,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m so glad to see ya, ma, but I’m sorry for the occasion. Will you be taken care of tonight?”

“Bobby said I could stay with him ‘n Lureen for a while. Don’t ya worry about me none.”

“But Ennis…” Jack sighed. “He can’t go to Lureen’s. We’ll have ta figger somethin’ out.”

Sophia started to rise. “You want me ta get ‘im?”

“Mom, wait.” He grasped her arm, made her sit down again. “I need a moment ta think this over, prepare myself, because if I don’t…” He laid his head back, sighing deeply. “You don’t know Ennis like I do, ma, but his being here, it’s big. It’s huge, ‘n I’m scared.”

Sophia smiled. “Now ain’t that funny. He told me the same thing earlier.”

“Ennis? Impossible. He wouldn’t never admit ta bein’ scared.”

“He did today.”

“Damn. Just when I’d decided ta hate his guts forever, he turns around ‘n does this.” His eyes flitted toward her. “Ma, is there anyone else out there? Don’t tell me Ennis is in the waitin’ room with Lureen ‘n the Newsomes.”

“No, Jack. I’m sure they’ll be by tonight, but for now it’s just us.”

“Ain’t that a relief.” Jack exhaled slowly. “Well, okay, you can tell ‘im ta come in. Best ta just face the music ‘n get it over with.”

“Okay, Jack.” She got to her feet. “You need anythin’ from the gift shop?”

He smiled. “I guess it would be pushin’ my luck to ask for a pack a smokes, so if you could get me some shavin’ supplies instead? I look like a savage.”

“Will do my best, Jackie.” She stroked his heavily stubbled chin and gave him a quick kiss. “I love ya.”

“Love ya too, ma. Take my wallet, okay? It should be here somewhere…”

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I’m no heiress, by no means, but I think I can afford ta buy a few razors for my son.”

“Fine, but as soon as I’m walkin’ outta here, I’m gonna take ya shoppin’. That’s a promise, ma. You deserve ta have somethin’ new ‘n nice. Not that Dad would care. You could walk in lookin’ like the Queen a England ‘n he wouldn’t notice.”

She smiled. “We’ll see. For now I just need ya ta concentrate on gettin’ better, you hear?”

“Yes, ma.” He flashed her a quick, nervous smile. “God, I’m half convinced that Ennis’s already halfway back to Wyomin’ by now, that he turned right around once he knew I was gonna be okay.”

“He’s still out there waitin’, Jack. He wants ta see ya.” She paused at the door. “In case anyone asks… Doc said only family allowed, so I done told ‘im Ennis’s your cousin.”

His mouth fell open. “You _lied_ to the doctor? Ma, I didn’t think you were capable.”

“Why not?”

“Well…” He shook his head, still looking perplexed. “’s Not what Jesus would do, now is it?”

Sophia straightened her shoulders. “Jesus wasn’t never a mother,” she said. Then she walked out.


	8. Deadline

_The truth be known, the truth be told_  
_my heart was always fairly cold_  
_posing to be as warm as yours_  
_my way of getting in your world_  
_But now I’m out and I’ve had time_  
_to look around and think and_  
_sink into another world that’s filled with guilt_  
_and overwhelming shame_  
~ The Avett Brothers

*

When Ennis, who had kept himself busy biting his fingernails down to the flesh, saw Mrs. Twist emerging from Jack’s room, he sat up straight as a rod and steeled himself for the verdict. The doctor’s words had reassured him that Jack wasn’t going to die anytime soon, but now that he had made it this far, he couldn’t bear the idea of being denied access to that room.  
  
To his immense relief, she nodded at him and said, “You can go in now, Ennis. I’m gonna head down to the gift shop for some razors ‘n shavin’ cream for Jack. You need anythin’?”  
  
“No, Ma’am.” He got up and approached the door, his boots making strange sounds on the linoleum. “So uh… you sure he wants ta see me?”  
  
She smiled encouragingly and touched his arm briefly before heading to the elevator. Fiddling nervously with his hat, Ennis glanced around, half believing that someone might try to stop him, but the nurses paid no attention to him. He cleared his throat, wiping his sweaty palm on his jeans before taking the door handle and turning it.  
  
_Better not fuck this up, Del Mar._  
  
Jack was sitting upright in bed, propped up against a bunch of pillows. His eyes snapped toward Ennis when he entered, the one eye at least that wasn’t all puffed up and purple. His appearance shocked Ennis more than he had anticipated, and his fingers clenched around the brim of his hat involuntarily.  
  
A tentative smile formed on Jack’s face. At least that was familiar. “Hey, asshole.”  
  
“Howdy.” Ennis stood as if rooted to the spot, studying Jack from a distance. “So uh, you still in one piece ‘n everythin’?”  
  
“As good as.” Jack grimaced. “But goddamn, I’ll take rodeoin’ over this any day.”  
  
“Hurtin’ bad?”  
  
“Nah.” Jack glanced at the bag of fluids hooked up next to his bed. “I don’t rightly know what’s in this bag, but it’s good stuff.”  
  
Ennis was still standing, awkwardly, near the foot end of the bed. _Move, you chickenshit! You come a thousand miles for ‘im, few more steps ain’t gonna kill ya._  
  
“You been real lucky, cowboy,” he said as he walked around the bed, closer to Jack. “Coulda got somebody killed, coulda got yourself killed, 'n then what? Gave your momma a good scare, you did, 'n Bobby too.”  
  
“You don’t hafta tell me it was fuckin’ stupid. I got the message, loud ‘n clear.” Jack's one good eye followed Ennis until the latter was standing right next to him. “Ma told me Bobby called ya.”  
  
“'s What you told 'im ta do, ain't it?”  
  
“I'm surprised he actually listened. Hardly ever does.” Jack sighed. “Ennis, I won't lie. You here in Texas, I never thought I’d see the day.”  
  
“Had ta come, Jack.” Ennis frowned, glancing down at his boots. “Owed ya.”  
  
“Still. I thank ya for givin' my ma a lift. That's big a you, friend, real big.” Jack shifted his head on the pillow. “Hey, could you stoop to my level just a bit? You're awfully tall from down here, 'n that chair ain't gonna bite ya.”  
  
Ennis sat, putting his hat on his knees. “You're dreadful pale, Jack.”  
  
“I’ve been fed through a tube for the past few days, Ennis. First thing I do after walkin’ out a here's orderin' a big steak 'n fries. I'll pink right up, you'll see.”  
  
Ennis's mouth twitched. “Thinkin' about food already. Guess you're gonna be okay.”  
  
“I plan to.” Jack smiled, but weakly. “Hey buster, you come into a little money recently?”  
  
“Huh, I wish. Why?”  
  
“Momma says you drove here in a Chevy. You got a glitzy new ride?”  
  
“As if. Nope, got it on loan from Don Wroe.”  
  
“No kiddin'. That's awfully nice a him. 'n All we ever got 'im was a skimpy trout. Guy musta really taken a likin' to ya.” A pause. “I hear you met my old man.”  
  
“Sure did. He's a real piece a work, Jack. As mean as they come.”  
  
“Preachin' to the choir.”  
  
Ennis frowned involuntarily as he thought back of his visit to Lightning Flat-- the cheerless ranch, Jack's old room, the family plot. He gritted his teeth. _Jack, I swear. You ain't never gonna end up in that plot, not s'long as I can help it._  
  
He didn't say this, of course. But he’d had a lot of time to think during the drive to Texas, and there were a few truths that couldn’t remain unsaid. “Tell you what, bud. I coulda done without meetin' your old man, but I ain't sorry I met your momma, 'n saw the ranch. I learned somethin', while I was there.”  
  
“What's that, Ennis?”  
  
“I'm still workin' that out. But, Jack... I know I done treated ya rotten a lot a the time, 'n I'm more sorry 'n I can say. Bein' there, not knowin' if you was gonna be okay, it was hard. Tore me up inside, thinkin’ you might just slip away like that without ever knowin’…”  
  
Ennis was making a study of his hat, picking at some nonexistent lint. “Truth is, this here thing ain’t never gonna be in the past. These past couple a months done taught me that. Brokeback, it’s in here.” He pointed at his heart, then tapped his forehead. “’n Here. For what it’s worth.”  
  
Jack was listening intently. “Damn, Ennis. That’s the most eloquent you’ve been in twenty years. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”  
  
“I’m just tellin’ ya how it is, ‘n I got more ta say. Was a time when I wished Brokeback never happened. I coulda just had a regular life with Alma ‘n the girls, been an upstandin’ citizen who don’t hafta fear ‘em tire irons. Coulda been a sweet life. Was a time when I blamed ya for all of it, puttin’ thoughts into my head that hadn’t never occurred to me before. Went up that mountain a regular guy, came down queer.” Pause. “Anyway, no point in bellyachin’ ‘n pointin’ fingers. Brokeback did happen, ‘n it wasn’t all you that did this. You moved first, but I didn’t put up much of a struggle.”  
  
Jack smiled. “Struggle lasted for about five seconds, ‘s far as I recall, ‘n then I was on hands ‘n knees ‘n you were comin’ at me like a fuckin’ pile driver.”  
  
Ennis flushed. It wasn’t one of his proudest memories, although it still turned him on. “You coulda stopped me, Jack. You ain’t no weak pansy. But you were just _waitin’_ for it. Why?”  
  
“Why do you think? ‘Cos I wanted it, Ennis, wanted it bad. I’d been thinkin’ about it, imaginin’ what it would be like, havin’ your big hard cock up my ass. I beat off to that idea dozens a times before I could convince ya ta lend me a hand.”  
  
“Huh. Figure that.” Ennis was silent for a short spell. “I still don’t know if I ever woulda looked at another man if it weren’t for you, Jack. I guess I’ll never know for sure.”  
  
“Guess not.”  
  
“It don’t matter. I can’t quit this thing, ‘n you are ready ta throw in the towel unless somethin’ changes, so I guess we’re at, what’s the word, an impasse?”  
  
“You could say that, yeah.” Something in Jack’s body language had changed, like he’d become guarded and put up a wall. “I don’t like it any more ‘n you do, Ennis, but I think I made my point. I don’t feel like havin’ the same conversation over ‘n over.”  
  
Ennis started fussing with his hat again. “You’re right, I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit, but I understand why you laid down the law back in May. Least I think I do. Like I said, I know you been hurtin’ a long time ‘cause a me. Tried ta turn a blind eye, didn’t work in the long run. You’re one a them types wears their heart on their sleeve.” Pause. “Shames me awful, okay? I may never’ve taken a belt buckle to ya, but I ain’t no better ‘n your old man.”  
  
Something seemed to break in Jack’s eyes at that, the wall crumbling. “Aw, Ennis, that ain’t true. We had plenty a good times, ‘n that ain’t somethin’ I can say about my old man. That's the whole problem, don'tcha get it? If I didn't care so damn much, it wouldn't be so hard ta walk away.” His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and looked away. “I know it's all ‘cause a fear that you're keepin' me at arm's length, fear that's been chokin' ya half to death since you saw a dead man in a drainage ditch when you were nine. Your daddy done taught ya a real good lesson that day, didn't he? But me, I don't wanna hide no more. You and me... we’re decent fellas. We shouldn’t hafta live in constant fear ‘cause a what we feel.” He paused, then went on more softly, “I fell for ya hard on that mountain, Ennis, 'n I ain't ashamed t’admit it.”  
  
“That so.” Ennis looked up, eyes hard. “Then why Mexico, huh? If you loved me so damn much, why couldn't you just keep it zipped, cowboy? I never done screwed around on _you_ with no other fella.”  
  
“I only started goin' to Mexico after you got divorced, asshole,” Jack bit out. “Nothin' ta be proud of, I know, but I told ya from the get go that I was a sinner, Ennis, 'n I ain’t gonna apologize for the way I chose ta pick myself up after you done crushed my last hope to the ground.”  
  
“So you sayin' I pushed ya?”  
  
“Hell yeah that's what I'm sayin'. You think it’s so fuckin’ great, havin' sex with someone who’s only interested in the contents a my wallet? Nothin’ gratifyin’ about that.”  
  
Ennis gritted his teeth until it hurt. “What about this ranch neighbor a yours? You payin' him too?”  
  
Jack was blindsided by the question, but he didn’t ask how Ennis had found out. “Randall? No, he's puttin' out free a charge. Don'tcha dare judge me, Ennis. Randall 'n I are just two lonely guys tryin' ta deal with life best we can. 'n He's a helluva lot closer than Juárez.”  
  
Ennis closed his eyes in quiet defeat. “I resent it.”  
  
“Didn't think you'd be leapin' for joy. But I'm tired a bendin' my life ta fit your expectations.”  
  
“It's dangerous, Jack. There's always someone watchin'.”  
  
“If someone wants ta come at me, let 'em. I don't keep a gun in my glove compartment for nothin'.”  
  
“That supposed ta make me feel better? You ain't Clint fuckin' Eastwood, Jack. You're a salesman, for Chrissake.”  
  
Jack didn't respond, and for a while both men were silent, weary of going in these never-ending circles, weary of all the blame. Ennis sat with his face in his hands for a while, wondering how everything had become so fucked up.  
  
“How much time do I get, Jack?” he finally asked. “When I called ya on your birthday, you said you weren't gonna wait forever. When's the offer expirin'?”  
  
Jack gave a dry chuckle. “You need a fuckin' deadline?”  
  
“Yeah,” Ennis breathed. “I need some time ta figger things out. Would be helpful ta know how much time I got.”  
  
“I can't believe you're askin' for more time, when I done made up my mind sixteen years ago.” Jack exhaled, slowly and loudly. “I don't know, Ennis. I been livin’ in self-destruct mode lately, 'n I'm gonna need some time ta pick up the pieces, find some degree a self-esteem. Doc says I gotta quit drinkin' if I wanna see fifty, cut back on the smokin' too. I hafta figger out if there's a future for me in Childress, or Texas even. I know I'm lucky ta still be alive, 'n I'm gonna use this new lease on life I've been given for somethin' good.”  
  
“Good on ya, Jack,” Ennis said quietly. “I want ya ta live a long 'n healthy life, bud. I... I think I'm gonna try 'n cut back on the booze, too. If your liver's fucked up, mine can't be much better.”  
  
There was a soft knock on the door then, and Ennis sat back quickly, unable to suppress his first instinctive response. The door opened slightly and Mrs. Twist peered inside. “Got your shavin’ supplies, Jack,” she said as she held out a paper bag with the hospital logo on it. “Here, Ennis, take ‘em.”  
  
Ennis stood up. “Ma'am, if you wanna sit here for another spell-”  
  
She shook her head, handing him the bag. “I'm gonna have a cuppa coffee in the hospital cafeteria. I'll be back later, Jack.”  
  
“Thanks, ma.”  
  
The door softly closed again. Ennis came back to the bed and put the bag on the nightstand. “You fancyin' a shave, huh?”  
  
“Like you wouldn't believe. This vagrant look don’t do it for me at all. Wanna give me a hand, cowboy?”  
  
“You want me ta give ya a shave?”  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I'm capable myself? Nurses are all gals around here; would prefer a man do it.” His mouth twitched. “Huh, talk about a Freudian slip.”  
  
Ennis, who didn’t know what a Freudian slip was, looked around the room. “Uh, okay. Gonna need a bowl of sorts.”  
  
“Chamber pot's underneath the bed. 'n Before you ask, it’s clean. I been peein’ into a baggie for the past three days.”  
  
Ennis tapped water from the faucet and put the pot on the nightstand. In the bag Mrs. Twist had brought were a razor, a brush, a tube of Old Spice shaving cream and aftershave of the same brand. He tested the razor with his thumb. “I don't wanna nick ya, bud. Brand new razor, this.”  
  
“You'll do fine. But you're gonna hafta get a helluva lot closer to me than that.”  
  
Blushing, Ennis sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Jack. He could feel the warmth of Jack's body through the sheet, a distraction that wouldn’t make the task at hand any easier. Silently he lathered Jack's face as best he could, telling himself that it was no big deal, he was just helping out a friend, and that was exactly what someone walking in on them would see. He took the razor. “Chin up.”  
  
Jack obediently jutted out his chin, a glimmer in the eye that never left Ennis. “Take it all,” he whispered.  
  
“Whut?”  
  
“Take it all. Everythin'. Includin’ the moustache.”  
  
This gave Ennis pause. Jack had had that moustache for years. “You sure?”  
  
“Yeah, I'm sure. Fresh start, right? 'n Moustaches are goin' out a style anyway.”  
  
“Okay, bud.” Ennis, who shaved himself daily without a second thought, set himself to the task with the concentration of a child trying to color within the lines, tip of his tongue between his lips. Using the fingers of his free hand, he turned Jack’s face this way and that as he worked, and with every gentle sweep of the razor more of Jack's face appeared from underneath the cream and the stubble. Ennis found it particularly gratifying to take every last hair from Jack's upper lip. _So long, buddy!_ He did however spontaneously decide to leave Jack's sideburns long, to match the early 70’s look that reminded him of a happier Jack.  
  
When he was done, he tossed the razor in the bowl and carefully wiped Jack's face clean with a towel before dabbing it with aftershave. The sight of Jack's fresh, smooth face, even with the bruises and sickly complexion, caused a flutter in his gut. “There's my handsome fella,” he murmured, brushing Jack's cheek with his knuckles.  
  
Jack's eyes dropped shut, and he leaned into the touch ever so slightly. “You wanna know somethin’?”  
  
“Uh-huh.” Ennis knew it was time to move away, off the bed, but now that contact had been made, he found he couldn’t bring himself to break it. Hadn’t it always been that way between them?  
  
“You know who I remind myself of, when I’m with Randall?” Jack opened his eyes. “I remind myself a you. When he’s comin’ too close, I push ‘im away, like you push me away time ‘n again. Keep ‘im at arm’s length, always. When he’s talkin’ about this or that, tryin’ ta engage me in somethin’ other than sex, I find myself tunin’ out. He’s a good guy, ‘n I’m just usin’ him ta get my rocks off, ‘cause you are three fuckin’ states away! Is that fair?”  
  
“I don’t use ya for just the sex, Jack,” Ennis objected, leaving the question unanswered.  
  
Jack sighed. “Not the point I was tryin’ ta make, but okay. What else is there, then? What’s so damn great about those fishin’ trips that keeps ya comin’ back, if not the sex?”  
  
“Hard ta explain.” Ennis’s eyes flicked away. “Them trips is just a way ta bring back that summer a ’63, I guess. Was the happiest time a my life, Jack, bein’ there with you. We was young ‘n free, smokin’ ‘n shootin’ the shit as guys do. ‘n Yeah, havin’ sex too, damn great sex even. We could do whatever we wanted, no one watchin’, no one judgin’. Only time in my life I felt like that, ‘n it was cut short by a damn turn in the weather. Is _that_ fair?” He paused, then looked up. “Jack, I swear. If some fuckin’ fairy godmother showed up right now ‘n told me ta make a wish, I’d wish for a lifetime a bein’ nineteen and I’d spend it on that mountain with you.”  
  
To Ennis’s surprise, Jack smiled-- a smile that quickly turned into an irreverent, honest-to-God grin. “A fuckin’ fairy godmother…” He chuckled and cupped one side of Ennis’s face in his hand, the first time he allowed himself to show some tenderness. “Well, I wouldn’t mind tradin’ back some a these grey hairs, that’s for sure.”  
  
“I don’t mind ‘em grey hairs.” Ennis’s eyes strayed, involuntarily, to Jack’s mouth-- Jack’s extremely kissable mouth. “You don’t look a day older ‘n thirty, bud, unlike me.”  
  
“You thinkin’ about kissin’ me, sweet-talker? You got that look on yer face. I’m warnin’ ya, this mouth ain’t seen a toothbrush in three days.”  
  
“Wasn’t gonna french ya anyway.” Full of trepidation, Ennis leaned in and kissed Jack-- gentle, chaste even, but forcing himself to take his time, to kiss him without fear. Wasn’t easy, his ears still listening for sounds outside the room, but God, how glad he was that Jack was still alive and wanting to be kissed. When he finally drew back, he couldn’t resist touching Jack’s face with his knuckles again. “Nice ‘n smooth, darlin’.”  
  
The endearment drew a soft, choked sound from Jack, and he reached up to rub his own chin. “Left my sideburns kinda long, didn’tcha? You like ‘em that way?”  
  
Ennis shrugged noncommittally. “Sure. That so wrong?”  
  
“Nope. Just good ta know, is all.” Jack sighed, lapsing into thought. “Okay. Truth time, Ennis. You serious about this deadline thing?”  
  
Ennis nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
Jack looked into his eyes long and hard. Ennis looked back, unflinching. “I pick a date, any date, ‘n by the time that date rolls around, you’ll be ready ta give me an answer? Not some half-assed answer, but a fuckin’ definitive one?”  
  
“That’s the idea.”  
  
Jack laid his head back. “I’ll admit, I'm impressed with some a the things you said today, Ennis, but I can't take your words to the bank. So I ain't gettin' my hopes up, ‘cause you done crushed 'em before. Fuckin’ ripped my guts out ‘n stomped all over ‘em. But if you want a date, you can get one. I’ll give ya sixteen weeks, startin’ today.”  
  
“Why sixteen?”  
  
“I was gonna give ya eight, one for each year since your divorce, but I’ll be generous ‘n double it.” Jack gave a joyless smile. “So that should be sometime in February, I guess. Gives me some time ta clear my head ‘n get my life back on track.”  
  
“Okay, Jack.” Ennis lowered his head, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief that Jack was willing to grant him this final mercy. “Thanks for this.”  
  
“Well, you done earned some credit for comin' all this way, 'n helpin' my ma out. I won't forget that, Ennis. How long're you stayin', anyway?”  
  
Ennis frowned. “Don't rightly know. Boss expects me back by Monday, but I reckon your ma probly wants ta stay a bit longer.”  
  
“Don't worry about my ma. I'll arrange somethin' when it’s time for her ta head back.”  
  
“Well, I guess I should hit the road sometime tomorrow, then. Wish I could stay, Jack, but I can't hang 'round the hospital all the time.”  
  
Jack nodded resignedly. “Well, you have ta stay somewhere tonight. Tell you what, over there by the door is my jacket. My house keys should be in one a the pockets. Take 'em before you head out.”  
  
“Are you sure? I can sleep in the truck, Jack.”  
  
“Don't be a dickhead. I got a perfectly fine apartment. Address's 114 Bella Vista Drive, apartment F. There's food in the fridge, 'n you can drop the keys off at the janitor's office when you leave.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Would you do me one favor though?”  
  
“Sure, Jack.”  
  
Jack lowered his eyes. “The booze, toss it. The Scotch, the vodka, the beer, everythin's gotta go. Can you do that?”  
  
Ennis reached for Jack's hand, squeezed it gently. “A course, darlin'. I'll take care a that for ya.”  
  
“Thanks.” Jack sighed. “I guess I won't be discharged for a few days yet, but it'll be easier comin' home if the place's been cleansed by a booze-exorcism.”  
  
“Good decision, bud.” Ennis drew his bottom lip between his teeth, working up the nerve to ask Jack something. “So uh... you reckon you gonna keep seein' this Randall guy?”  
  
“You got no right ta make demands about my sex life, Ennis. Not unless you wanna take full responsibility for it.”  
  
“I'm just inquirin'.”  
  
“Well, I don't have an answer for ya right now. As I said, I got a lot ta figger out, includin' that thing with Randall. I've got my demons 'n he's got his, so may not be the smartest decision ta be around each other a whole lot. Too much negativity, you know? Bad mojo’s not what I need right now.”  
  
Ennis leaned forward and kissed Jack again, more fiercely this time. “I don't like feelin' jealous, Jack,” he muttered.  
  
“My heart fuckin' breaks for you.” Jack grabbed a handful of Ennis's shirt, their noses and foreheads touching. “Damn, Ennis. I done said back in May there's never enough time, but this is dreadful short even for us. Wish there was a lock on that door, I might try ta get some quick action before you waltz on out a here.”  
  
Ennis groaned and gave Jack another crushing kiss before distancing himself somewhat. _Not the time ‘n place ta get horny, cowboy!_  
  
“Can I call ya now 'n then?” he asked, remembering what the doctor had said about Jack needing a support system. He could be part of that system, if only from a distance. “Just ta shoot the shit, 'n hear how you're doin'?”  
  
“Sure, Ennis. Just don't be too damn proud ta call collect, okay? I’ll whup your ass if you pay everythin’ out of your own pocket.”  
  
“’n I’ll whup yours if you ever pull a stunt like this again,” Ennis said quietly. “Hadta drop everythin’ ‘n lie ta get Stoutamire ta give me a day off. Told ‘im I hadta take care a some family trouble.”  
  
“Not that big a lie,” Jack said, “since ‘parently you are my cousin today.”  
  
Ennis ducked his head, unable to suppress a little smile. “Your momma’s somethin’ else, Jack. Couldn’t believe my ears when she said that.”  
  
“Same here.”  
  
“She…” Ennis hesitated. “She knew about us, about Brokeback. All along.”  
  
“I didn’t tell her, Ennis. But she’s got eyes in her head. She just put two ‘n two together, I guess.”  
  
“'n She never spoke to you about no fire ‘n brimstone?”  
  
Jack shrugged, with one shoulder. “Nuh-uh. A course she was happy ‘n all when I got married ‘n had a kid, but I think she knew it wasn’t what I really wanted.”  
  
“You don’t regret havin’ Bobby, do you?”  
  
“A course I don’t regret it. But if he’d never been born, I would be none the wiser.” Jack sighed. “There are no easy answers. Life’s what happens while you’re busy makin’ other plans, ‘n all that shit.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“John Lennon.” Seeing Ennis’s face made Jack chuckle. “Oh right, I forgot. Ennis del Mar is way too Marlboro Man for pop culture.”  
  
Ennis snorted. “You fancyin’ this Lennon guy or somethin’?”  
  
“He’s dead, Ennis.”  
  
“So? Marilyn Monroe’s been cold for twenty years. Don’t stop people from beatin’ off to the pictures.”  
  
Jack smirked. “Aw, Ennis, you’re so damn romantic. Naw, since we’re talkin’ Beatles, I kinda had a thing for George Harrison for a while. He’s the quiet one, ‘n you know I like my men taciturn ‘n mysterious. They appear all strong ‘n silent, but when you grab ‘em in a tent at night, they go off like a fuckin’ volcano.”  
  
Ennis blushed uncontrollably. “Stop yer crazy talk.”  
  
Smiling still, Jack leaned slightly back. “Damn, Ennis, it’s always like this with us. When it’s bad, we make each other miserable, but when it’s good, it just feels so fuckin’ great, you know?”  
  
Ennis nodded slowly, looking down. “Yeah. I do know.”  
  
Jack lifted his arm. “Hey, c'mere,” he said in what was as close to a bedroom voice as Ennis had heard that day. “Need another kiss before you go, ‘n make it count, cowboy.”  
  
Ennis didn’t need more incentive than that, and he lunged forward, planting both his hands on the bed, one on each side of Jack. They kissed, with tongue after all, and Jack was sliding his fingers through Ennis’s hair and Ennis loved it, had always loved it when Jack did that. It was at once sweet and intensely erotic and it got him riled up like nobody’s business.  
  
_Shit. Should be interestin’ ta see the nurses’ faces if I walk out a here with a boner_.  
  
“Christ, I can’t take this,” Jack moaned as he pulled back. “Ennis, you better go before I get all weepy ‘n clingy. Lemme keep some dignity here.”  
  
Ennis hummed and leaned in for one last kiss, just one more, but the moment had passed. Jack’s hand slipped away from his head, to his chest, ready to push him away.  
  
“Please, Ennis,” Jack whispered. “You gotta be the one ta walk away. I can’t do it for ya this time.”  
  
“Fuckin’ hard,” Ennis mumbled. He nuzzled Jack’s face blindly, rubbing their cheeks together, inhaling the male scent of Old Spice. “I’ll call ya, darlin’. Take care a you.” Then, he launched himself off the bed, grabbing his hat and remembering just in time to take Jack’s keys from his jacket before he stormed out of the room. He didn’t look back once.


	9. Viking

Not long after Ennis had barreled out of the room, leaving Jack behind with an all-too-familiar ache in his heart, his attending physician dropped by for a quick check-up.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Twist,” Dr. Frolander said as he came striding into the room. His eyebrows lifted slightly when he saw Jack’s clean-shaven face. “Well, I seem to recall you looking a bit different earlier today. For a moment there, I thought I had walked into the wrong room.”

Jack glanced at the pot with dirty water that was still on the nightstand. “Left a bit of a mess, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about that. Our nurses are used to dealing with much worse.”

Jack had decided almost immediately that he liked Dr. Frolander. He was not much older than Jack, and he had an open, straight-to-the-point approach that Jack could appreciate, especially in someone who could probably paper his walls with fancy diplomas and awards. The difference with Jack, a lower-class citizen with a drinking habit and only two years of high school, was vast, but the doctor didn’t talk down to him. He was also very un-American, in a way that tickled Jack’s curiosity.

“How are you feeling? Is the morphine keeping you comfortable?”

“Sure is, Doc. If it weren’t, I’d be drivin’ ya crazy complainin’ about it. I wasn’t never too good at sufferin’ in silence.”

The doctor put the earpieces of his stethoscope in his ears. “Sit up for me, please. I’d like to listen to your heart and lungs.”

Jack did as he was asked and sat still while the doctor reached into his hospital gown with the end of the stethoscope.

“Take a deep breath.” The doctor listened and moved his hand a few inches. “Again. Good. Now lean back.”

After the doctor had listened to Jack’s lungs and heart and shone a penlight into both his eyes, he took the clipboard containing Jack’s medical file and wrote something down. “Are your mother and cousin staying here in town?” he asked conversationally.

“No,” Jack replied, “my ma will be stayin’ in Childress with my ex-wife ‘n boy for a few days, but Ennis is due back at work on Monday.”

Dr. Frolander clicked his pen and put it in the breast pocket of his coat. “What does he do?”

“He’s a farm hand.”

“Hard work, I imagine.”

“Very hard. I should know, I grew up on a ranch.”

“And what do you do now?”

“I sell farm equipment. For my ex-father-in-law, who wasn’t never a fan a mine ta begin with. I want out, badly.”

“Ah. Yes, I can see how that could get awkward. Any idea what you want to do next?”

“Not a clue.” Jack sighed. “That’s one a the things I’m gonna have ta think real hard about.”

Dr. Frolander did not speak for a few moments. “Mr. Twist…”

“Call me Jack.”

“Okay. Jack, you appear to be in low spirits. Has your relatives’ visit fatigued you? Patients usually perk up when loved ones are visiting, which is why I allowed it.”

“No, no, I was glad ta see ‘em,” Jack said. “Was a real surprise. My ma’s never been to Texas before, Ennis neither. It was all just a bit… emotional, I guess.”

Dr. Frolander nodded. “I understand. With them living in Wyoming, you probably don’t see them all that often. I left most of my family behind in Sweden, so I can certainly relate.”

Jack found he could not meet the doctor’s friendly gaze. God, but he was sick of all this dishonesty. He understood why his mother had told that little white lie about Ennis, he was even grateful for it, but after twenty years of constant deceit he simply couldn’t take it anymore. For once in his life, he had to tell someone the unspeakable truth he had never wanted to keep hidden. “Actually, Doc, I gotta come clean about somethin’. Ennis, he uh… he is…”

“Not your cousin?” Dr. Frolander said. He didn’t seem shocked or displeased. He was even smiling.

Jack looked up sharply. “You knew?”

“I had my suspicions.” The doctor seemed to weigh his words for a moment. “The thing is, Jack, when I told your mother and Mr. Del Mar that you were out of danger, he didn’t react as one would expect from a cousin. He reacted like a loving partner would.”

A sudden blush of pleasure rose to Jack’s face. He tugged distractedly at his earlobe, offering the doctor a lopsided smile. “Doc, you better check my ticker again, ‘cause it’s doin’ all kinds a funny things right now.”

Dr. Frolander chuckled. “So, what _is_ Mr. Del Mar, if not your cousin?”

Jack scratched his cheek. “Honestly? I don’t know what the hell he is. But I sure like hearin’ them words you just said.” He had a sudden thought, and eyed the doctor more attentively. “Wait a sec. If you suspected Ennis wasn’t no relative, why did you let ‘im see me?”

“Well, Jack, it was only a suspicion, as I said. There wasn’t exactly time to run a background check, and besides, I am not coldhearted. You have a long recovery ahead of you, and medicine can only do so much. You are going to need love and support from the people in your life, including Mr. Del Mar.”

Jack smiled, surprised that it could be so easy to talk about his being queer to a complete stranger. Had he expected to see disgust on the doctor’s face? Ennis surely would have, but Jack had always been more inclined to see the good in people. “If you don’t mind me askin’, Doc, what’s a Viking like yourself doin’ in the sticks a Texas?”

Dr. Frolander laughed. It transformed his face in a most pleasant way. “What is an educated Swede doing in a provincial Texan hospital, you mean? Well, that’s quickly explained. After completing medical school in Uppsala, I had the opportunity to do my internship in Houston. While I was there, I met my current partner, who is from Amarillo originally. After my internship, I transferred out here and moved in with him. That is my life story in a nutshell.”

Jack’s mouth fell open. _What the hell?_ “Doc, you ain’t kiddin’.”

“Does that surprise you?” Dr. Frolander smiled. “You didn’t think there were gay people in Sweden, too?”

“No, that ain’t it.” Jack shook his head, feeling overwhelmed. “It’s just… I ain’t never met someone who just came out ‘n _said_ it, all calm-like, like it was no big deal.”

“Well, it is no big deal. To me at least it isn’t.”

“Damn.” Jack ran his hand through his hair. “’n You ‘n your fella are livin’ together, for real?”

“We have a mortgage and everything.”

“That’s… amazin’. And people are friendly to ya ‘n all?”

“For the most part. I wouldn’t say we haven’t encountered _any_ bigotry over the years, but so far we haven’t seen any burning crosses in our front yard.” The doctor’s face had become serious. “Jack, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but everything you tell me will be treated as confidential. How long have you known that you are gay?”

Jack smiled sadly. “Twenty years, give or take.”

“And your son is, what, seventeen? You must have gotten married at a young age.”

Jack sighed. “Listen, Doc, I don’t know how things are across the pond, but where I come from, bein’ queer don’t fly. Just ask Ennis. Accordin’ to him, bein’ queer is tantamount ta walkin’ around with a bull’s-eye stamped on your forehead.”

Dr. Frolander nodded gravely. “Is that why he’s in Wyoming and you are in Texas?”

“You guessed it. Ennis saw somethin’ as a kid, somethin’ terrible, ‘n he just can’t let it go. I think he wants this, just as much as I do, but he’s too afraid ta reach out ‘n grab it. Hell, he’d probly have a fit if he knew we are havin’ this conversation, like the whole hospital will be whisperin’ about that faggot up on the fifth floor ‘n plannin’ my demise. He’s as paranoid as they come.”

Dr. Frolander gave a little smile. “Well, I can’t speak for visitors and the other patients, but you shouldn’t have anything to fear from our medical personnel. We are obliged to treat all people regardless of age, gender, nationality, religion, sexual and political orientation. In the eyes of medicine, all men are truly equal.”

“Huh,” said Jack, who was also smiling. “I guess that’s somethin’. Thanks, Doc. It ain’t often I get ta talk about these things. It’s a lonely life as a queer man in Texas, ‘n sometimes I forget there’s other fellas like me out there.”

“You’re welcome, Jack. Now let’s discuss the matter of your health, shall we? Have you thought of what your first steps will be once you are released from the hospital?”

“Eat steak, ‘n take my ma shoppin’.”

“Okay.” The doctor smiled patiently. “Any plans for the long term?”

Jack sighed. “Guess I’ll join the AA, get a sponsor, the whole nine yards. I’m quittin’ the booze, Doc, cold-turkey. The smokin’ though, I don’t know. Will be hard ta quit both at the same time.”

“How old were you when you started smoking?”

Jack frowned as he thought about it. “Fourteen, thirteen maybe? I’m from ranch people, Doc. My old man said smokin’ was the mark of a man, ‘n I was always tryin’ ta please my Dad ‘n be the son he wanted.”

“I understand, Jack, but there is no rosy picture to paint here; smoking wreaks havoc on the body, especially at the rate you’re going. You are not yet forty, but you have the lungs of a sixty-year-old. Have you noticed being easily fatigued and out of breath?”

Jack bit his lips. “I guess I thought that was normal for a guy my age.”

Dr. Frolander sat down on the visitor’s chair. “Jack, how old do you think I am?”

Jack took a moment to study his physician, who looked the picture of health. “Forty-three? Forty-two? Hell if I know. Is this a trick question, Doc?”

Dr. Frolander smiled. “I turned forty-seven last month, and I compete in marathons on a high amateur level. Why don’t you consider taking up a sport? You’ll find it really gives you a lift.”

“What kind a sport?”

“The possibilities are endless. I happen to enjoy a weekly game of tennis, myself.”

“Tennis, with ‘em little white shorts? Ugh.”

The doctor chuckled. “Some would consider the shorts to be a perk. My compatriot Björn Borg is something of a legend in that area.”

Jack made a face. “Doc, no disrespect or nothin’, but I useta be a rodeo cowboy back in the day. I sucked at it, sure, but no way in hell I’m gonna hit no balls back ‘n forth across a net in my middle age. If Ennis found out, he’d be laughin’ until the cows came home.”

“Well, if you require more of a thrill, consider boxing. Or invest in a mountain bike and challenge yourself to ride it cross-country to the top of a hill a few times a week. I can assure you there’s a certain thrill in that.” He got up. “Think about it. I will see you at morning rounds, bright and early.”

“Hey, Doc?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask ya some more questions next time, about you ‘n your fella?” Jack looked sheepish. “If you don’t mind, a course.”

Dr. Frolander smiled. “No, Jack, I’ll be happy to answer your questions. I may just have a few for you, myself. Two ranch hands from rural Wyoming who meet and fall in love-- now that sounds like an unlikely tale worth hearing.”

“Doc,” Jack said with a sigh, “unlikely don’t begin ta cover it.”

***

After leaving Jack’s room, Ennis had tracked down Mrs. Twist in the hospital cafeteria and joined her. It was by now twenty to six, which meant that Lureen and Bobby would probably soon be arriving for their evening visit to Jack. Mrs. Twist would be going home with them afterward, and Ennis had decided to wait with her until they arrived. If he was honest, he was actually quite keen on meeting them, especially Bobby. It was, after all, thanks to the kid that they were all here.

To Ennis’s relief, Sophia hadn’t asked him about his conversation with Jack. She had taken her knitting needles from her purse and seemed perfectly content to occupy herself that way while they waited for Lureen and Bobby to arrive. Ennis on the other hand was squirrely. He tried to give his full attention to reading a folder titled _The Truth About Smoking ( & How To Quit)_, but he couldn’t stop replaying his thirty minutes with Jack over and over in his head.

Sixteen weeks. Jack had given him sixteen weeks to clean up his act and decide, for once and for all, what he wanted the rest of his life to be like. Was he going to drink himself to a lonely death in a trailer or would he take a gamble, try it for real with Jack and spend the rest of his life waiting for those tire irons? Neither option appealed, but the latter at least included Jack, while the former…

If Ennis gave the wrong answer at the end of those sixteen weeks, Jack would quit him for sure. Having looked the man in the eyes, Ennis didn’t doubt that even for a second. If Ennis let the tire irons win, Jack would disappear from his life for good. The past months had taught him what a hellish, sad existence that would be. But to make a change like that, to burn all bridges he had so carefully built and guarded and to sail into a beautiful but perilous sunset required courage, courage he didn’t possess. How would he explain to Stoutamire, or to Alma, or to his girls that he was going to pack up and live in sin with his queer lover? He would die of shame before he found the words.

All of a sudden he felt angry. _Goddammit, I never asked for any a this. I never asked ta be this way. I just wanna be a regular guy ‘n be left in peace._

He had barely had this thought when another voice piped up inside his head. _Quit yer whinin’! You had drunken sex with a man twenty years ago, ‘n now you’re in this. So you’re queer, boo fuckin’ hoo. Own it, you snivelin’ piece a shit. Be a man ‘n do right by somebody, for once in your miserable life._

He looked at Sophia Twist. His time with her was drawing to an end, and that thought made him strangely sad. They had known each other for a little more than a day, but being with her was a little like being with Jack by extension. She was also the only person in the world who knew how he felt about Jack and didn’t condemn him for it. He didn’t like the idea of going back to that life where Jack was a dark, shameful secret that had to be kept hidden. _Jack Nasty_ , Alma had once called him, and Ennis had almost struck her for it, for the first time in their lives. “Ma’am, can I ask ya somethin’?”

“A course, honey.”

Ennis shifted in his chair. “Do you think that… it’s possible for people ta change? You done said in the car this mornin’ that God wants us ta learn from our mistakes. If I told ya that I made a terrible mistake twenty years ago, ‘n that my wife suffered for it, ‘n my daughters suffered for it, ‘n Jack too… do you think that I can still make it right? That I can get forgiveness?”

Sophia lowered her knitting project into her lap. “It’s never too late ta get forgiveness, Ennis,” she told him gently. “If you can own yer mistakes, apologize to the people you hurt, I believe anythin’s possible.”

Ennis nodded slightly, looking down. “Ain’t easy.”

“No, makin’ an apology is hard, ‘n takes courage. But it’s a powerful thing, Ennis. A heartfelt apology can be like a gift, ‘n it can only do good.” She observed Ennis for a few moments. “But above all you must forgive yourself. That’s probly the hardest thing of all.”

Ennis felt tears pricking at his eyes. “Sure is.”

“But it can be done, honey. Listen, I don’t know what happened ‘tween you ‘n your wife, but if you got somethin’ ta tell her, don’t wait until it’s too late. Is she a good woman?”

“Yes Ma'am,” Ennis said, thinking of Alma as he had first seen her, before that thing with Jack changed everything: a quiet, sweet girl with a shy smile. “Not an evil bone in her body, that gal, but there's some hard feelins ‘tween us. I done treated her badly, 'n I ain't proud a that.”

“Then you hafta tell her that.”

Ennis grimaced. “I can try, but I ain't sure she'll listen.”

“She'll listen,” Mrs. Twist said as she resumed knitting. “If you speak from the heart, she'll listen. She may’ve moved on in her life, but a failed marriage don't just go away 'cos you want it to. If she's anythin' like most people, she's probly still dealin’ with a lot a unresolved hurt 'n blame, just like you. 's Long as that's still simmerin' beneath the surface, you'll have a real hard time findin' forgiveness. Can I give ya some advice?”

“Gladly, Ma'am.”

“You done told me Alma's got a small child 'n another on the way, so she's probly feelin' tired 'n ragged a lot a the time. Don't just drop by at random 'n expect ta get her undivided attention. Call first, maybe even ask her out to dinner, on a night her husband can watch the child. Arrange ta meet somewhere nice 'n quiet, where you can really get to the bottom a things. Be honest, ‘n let her know you care ‘bout her feelins. Women appreciate that.”

Ennis nodded, wondering how that would go over with Monroe. “Yeah, I guess that would soften her up a bit. She always liked goin' out to dinner, but we couldn't hardly ever afford it. Thank you, Ma'am.”

She reached out to pat his knee reassuringly. “It'll all work out, Ennis. I know it will. Why don'tcha call her tonight? Get it over with.”

Ennis looked doubtful. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I reckon you'll be headin' back to Riverton pretty soon?”

“Tomorrow, yeah. 'n Then it's back to the grindstone on Monday.” Ennis hesitated, realizing that it must seem like he was beating a hasty retreat. “But I done promised Jack I would check in regular by phone, make sure he sticks with the program ‘n all.”

“That’s good, Ennis. I admit I’m worried some for the near future. I’ll coddle Jack for a few days once he’s out a the hospital, but after that he’ll be on his own, ‘n Jack wasn’t never too good at takin’ care a himself. If it weren’t for John, I’d ask ‘im ta move back home for a while, just until he gets it all together. Maybe I can convince ‘im ta get a housekeeper, even if it’s just for a few hours a week.” She gave Ennis a smile. “Anyway, it’s good that you’ll be stayin’ in touch. That reassures me some.”

“Well, I got a few things ta make right with Jack too, Ma’am,” Ennis said. _‘n I hope to God I’ll live long enough ta get it done._

At six o’clock on the dot, Ennis saw a woman and a young man who had to be Lureen and Bobby entering the hospital lobby. Lureen looked a lot different than Ennis remembered from the pictures he had seen, her hair bleached and teased, her face covered in make-up and her little hands perfectly manicured and bejeweled. She looked… unnatural, and it was hard to believe that this country diva had once been a competitive barrel racing queen.

Ennis had been afraid to find a miniature version of Jack in Bobby, so he was relieved to see that the kid didn’t resemble his old man too much, even though the blue eyes gave him a bit of a turn. Bobby was also the one who saw Sophia and Ennis approaching and realized who they were.

“Grandma?” he said with a hesitant smile, looking intently at Sophia.

Ennis could see that Mrs. Twist became a little emotional when confronted with her grandson. The two embraced somewhat awkwardly, but were obviously happy to meet for the first time. Ennis stood back a little, sensitive to the fact that this little family circle did not include him.

“I’m so happy ta finally meet ya, Bobby,” Sophia said. “I wish it coulda been sooner.”

“Me too, Grandma, but you’re here now ‘n that’s what matters. They called to let us know Dad has woken op. Have you seen him?”

“I have, honey. He’s got some work ta do in terms a recovery, but the worst is over.” Sophia turned to Lureen. “Lureen, sweetie, it’s good ta see ya.”

“Welcome to Texas, Mrs. Twist,” Lureen said as she kissed the air next to Sophia’s cheeks. She had an authentic Texas twang that could cut glass. “It was good a you ta come all the way out here. Mr. Twist couldn’t make it?”

“No, you know ‘em ranchers; gotta keep the business runnin’. ‘n Please, call me Sophia, or even Ma, unless that’s too uncomfortable for ya. We’re still family, right?” She turned to include Ennis in the conversation. “This gentleman here’s Ennis del Mar, who was so kind as ta give me a lift.”

“Ma’am.” Ennis tipped his hat to Lureen and shook Bobby’s hand. “Heya, Bobby.”

“Mr. Del Mar, thank you again for doin’ this.” The kid was positively beaming as he shook Ennis’s hand with vigor. “I’ve been lookin’ forward to meetin’ you. Did you have a safe trip?”

“Sure enough,” Ennis said. “Wasn’t no trouble, Bobby. Yer Dad ‘n I are good friends.”

“Oh, _Del Mar_ ,” Lureen said, as if the name suddenly rang a bell. “You’re the huntin’ buddy, or the fishin’ buddy, I know that.”

The look and smile she gave him were completely neutral, and so in fact was her tone. She was making polite conversation, as people do when meeting strangers, but it was obvious she wasn’t all that interested in him.

 _Well I’ll be goddamned,_ Ennis thought with some wonder. _She really has no fuckin’ clue._

“Fishin’ buddy, Ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat again. “Pleased ta make your acquaintance. Sorry ta hear things didn’t work out ‘tween you ‘n Jack.”

Lureen made a face, as if she had a few thoughts of her own on that subject, but she made no comment, perhaps to spare Sophia’s feelings. “So, Ma, you’ll be comin’ home with me ‘n Bobby tonight?”

“If it’s not no trouble.”

Lureen waved her little hand. “A course it ain’t. House is big enough, ‘n you’re family, just as you said. Me ‘n Jack was married for eighteen years; just ‘cos we got divorced, don’t mean you’re not welcome no more.”

“It’ll be great to have you stayin’ with us, Grandma,” Bobby said warmly. “You can tell me all about Dad, what he was like as a kid. He never talks about that stuff.”

A look of understanding passed between Ennis and Sophia. “I’d like that, honey,” she said. Ennis wondered if she would be giving Bobby a watered-down version of the truth.

“What about you, Mr. Del Mar?” Bobby asked. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Oh yeah, I'm all set,” Ennis said, his hand reaching involuntarily for the keys, Jack's keys, in his pocket.

“Come Bobby, let's go,” Lureen said, touching her son's arm. “I wanna have a word with your Daddy's doctors before I personally smack his drunken ass into next week.” She glanced at Mrs. Twist. “Sorry, Ma, but I'm just sayin' it as it is. Jack's drinkin's been out a control these past couple a months. It's reckless 'n stupid, 'n a bad example to Bobby.”

“I'm sure you're right, Lureen,” Mrs. Twist said quietly. “Jack knows things need ta change, 'n he's gonna get help.”

“He said that?” Lureen seemed unimpressed. “Well, promises are easily made. Takes a man ta follow through. We'll see.”

Ennis cleared his throat. He hadn't meant to stay much longer anyway, but if this was where Lureen started airing her grievances with Jack, it was definitely time for him to exit stage left. “Well, I'll leave you people to it.”

“Are you leavin' us already?” Bobby looked disappointed. “Aren't you comin' up with us to see Dad?”

“Sat with your Dad an hour ago, kiddo, 'n I said my piece. It's family time now.”

“Well, that's a shame. I was hopin' to get to know you a bit better. I've been askin' my Dad for years if I could come with on one of your fishin' trips.”

Ennis nearly swallowed his tongue. _Jesus Christ! How had Jack talked his way out of that one?_

“Well, maybe one day, Bobby,” was all he could come up with. The kid's friendliness was actually quite touching, and Ennis had to remind himself how quickly that demeanor would change if Bobby knew what his daddy and 'Mr. Del Mar' really did on those fishing trips. Ennis blushed at the thought.

“I plan ta stay in touch with your old man, Bobby,” he said as he shook the boy's hand again. “You ain’t seen the last a me, okay?”

“Okay.” Bobby smiled. “Thanks again for comin', sir. Means a lot to us all, really.”

“Why don't you go on up with your momma, Bobby,” Sophia said. “I'll join ya in a bit.”

After Lureen and Bobby had left, Ennis found he did not know how to say goodbye to Mrs. Twist, who saw that he was struggling.

“Thank you again, Ennis,” she said, taking his hand between hers. “Have a safe journey home tomorrow, okay?”

Ennis nodded, trying to find his voice. “Sure was a pleasure meetin’ ya, Ma’am. Thanks fer bein’ so friendly ‘n all. I can see who Jack gets it from.”

She beamed at the compliment. “Can I give ya a hug, Ennis?”

He leaned down and she embraced him warmly with her thin arms. “I hope you’ll find the forgiveness you wish for, honey,” she said softly. “’n I hope ta see ya again someday.”

“Same here, Ma’am.” He cleared his throat and pulled the brim of his hat down a notch. “Now you better get on up there before Lureen flays Jack alive. She’s tiny, but I think she can take ‘im.”

She smiled and turned around, waving at him once more before getting on the elevator. For a minute or two Ennis stood there in the hospital lobby, feeling strangely alone and somewhat dazed by the events of the day. He could feel Jack’s keys sitting heavily in his pocket. Finally he turned on his heel, so abruptly that it startled a nurse who was just passing by, and marched out of St. Sebastian’s Hospital and into the parking lot. Automatically, he reached inside his jacket for his Lucky Strikes, the cigarette already between his lips when he changed his mind. He tossed the cigarette, the pack and even the lighter into a trash bin before getting into the car.

He had better stop by at a drug store on the way and buy a shitload of bubble gum.


	10. Neighbor

Bella Vista Drive was one of Childress’s two main streets, and while the small town center couldn't exactly be called bustling, Jack's rental apartment was certainly located in the most lively part of town, where most of the shops and facilities were. The apartments in Jack's building were in fact situated above a copy shop, a convenience store and the postal office. But it was past six and all the shops were closed when Ennis arrived.

Jack, as a typical divorcé, had rented a fully furnished apartment, in which the style of the seventies was still very much present. The front door opened to a narrow corridor with rooms on both sides. On a coat rack right behind the door were hanging several coats and hats, some of which Ennis recognized, and the walls were decorated with a number of generic landscape paintings that had probably come with the apartment as well. Ennis left his duffel bag on the floor, but kept on his own coat and hat as he went on to explore Jack's lair.

The place was a typical bachelor pad. It was also quite impersonal. Moving out of the house he had shared with Lureen, Jack seemed to have brought only his clothes and his pride and joy, his record collection. Everything else he needed to survive seemed to have been purchased new at Target or some other retail store. The bathroom was pretty bare, except for the basic toiletries, and so was the bedroom, where the only signs of human habitation were some discarded clothes and a box of condoms, sitting in plain sight on the floor next to the bed. Ennis pushed it underneath the bed with his foot so that he wouldn’t have to see it anymore. Half of the kitchen cabinets were empty. There were dirty dishes in the sink, and Ennis's wandering gaze encountered liquor bottles everywhere. In the fridge were boxes of Chinese takeout food that gave off a strange smell, but he found a pepperoni pizza in the mini freezer that would make a good enough meal.

The living room was where Ennis felt Jack's influence the most; it was where he kept all his records, and it seemed that he had gone all out and bought himself a brand new, state-of-the-art record player that was probably worth more than all the furniture put together. Typical Jack.

In order to get the place ready for Jack's return, Ennis spent the next forty minutes or so collecting bottles and emptying them in the sink. He put the empty bottles in cardboard boxes, which he then carried down to the truck one by one. Beer cans received the same treatment. He threw the cartons of Chinese food, along with everything else in the fridge that smelled unsavory, in the garbage bin, tied up the bag and carried that to the truck too. Once he was sure that there wasn’t a drop of alcohol left in the house, he drove to the nearest dumpster and tossed everything. For some reason he felt much lighter driving back to Jack's place after that, as if a malignancy had been cut out of his own life as well as Jack's.

Back at the apartment, he spent some time figuring out how the microwave oven worked. He heated the pizza and ate it standing at the kitchen counter, drinking milk from the only carton that hadn't passed its ‘use-by’ date. When he was finished, he rinsed the plate and glass and put on coffee. While it was brewing, he wandered aimlessly into the living room, where his attention was drawn - again - to the record player. He noticed there was a record on the turntable, and Ennis had to squint to decipher the tiny lettering on the label. It said, _Bing Crosby - The Radio Years._

Ennis didn't care for crooners, but Jack had apparently been listening to this record the last time he was home, and his curiosity got the better of him. He opened the lid, pushed the power button and placed the needle on the record at random. From the speakers sounded the closing bars of a song he didn't recognize, but the next one sounded vaguely familiar, although he couldn't recall where he had heard it before.

_Say, it's only a paper moon_   
_sailing over a cardboard sea_   
_but it wouldn't be make-believe_   
_if you believed in me…_

As the record played, Ennis flipped through Jack's impressive and rather eclectic collection. Some jazz, some blues, a fair amount of country and western, but over the years Jack appeared to have developed a taste for non-American pop and rock music: The Beatles of course, The Kinks, David Bowie, Culture Club, Queen… Some of the covers featured men in the most outrageous outfits and provocative poses, which made Ennis feel increasingly uncomfortable. Were these eccentric-looking, possibly-queer musicians Jack’s idols now? If so, it wasn’t something Ennis was particularly thrilled to discover.

While Bing continued to croon in the background, Ennis discovered a stack of magazines and newspapers next to the couch, as well as a leather-bound photo album he hadn’t noticed before. He hesitated to open it, torn between curiosity and fear of what he might discover inside, but again his curiosity was stronger. As he leafed through the album, it soon became apparent that it contained ordinary family snapshots, most of which appeared to have been taken by Jack. Bobby on horseback, Bobby in pajamas with a fully decorated Christmas tree behind him, Lureen posing with a huge cooked turkey on a silver plate, Bobby in rugby outfit… There was also a series of photos of landscapes, featuring stretches of prairie and craggy mountains. Jack had been dabbling in amateur photography in recent years, even bringing a camera with him on some of their trips to the Big Horns.

Suddenly Ennis got a shock. There was a picture of _him_ in there, holding a medium-sized trout they had caught to thank Don Wroe for letting them use his cabin for the week. He hadn’t wanted to pose for a picture, but twenty years had taught him that it was often easier to give in than to argue with Jack, so he had held up the trout and looked in the general direction of the camera. He had never seen the result, he had even forgotten about the existence of the picture until now. Ennis rarely saw pictures of himself, and this particular photo was especially confrontational; there he was, Ennis the fishing buddy, the fictional role that had earned him a spot in the Twist family album.

He wasn’t smiling in the picture, in fact part of his face was obscured by his hat, but he remembered so well the various tricks Jack had pulled from his hat to coax a smile from him. Something had been different between them that week; Jack had not been sad, and even Ennis had felt more carefree for some reason. They had laughed a lot, not arguing even once, and they’d had some of the most spectacular sex of their lives in and around that cabin, yes, that too.

One night, after dinner, Jack had gone for a shower while Ennis dozed in the recliner in front of the fireplace. He must really have nodded off for a while, because when he opened his eyes, Jack was kneeling in front of him, his hair wet and messy from the shower. Ennis meant to ask what time it was, but something in Jack’s eyes stopped him. Jack was dressed only in jeans, and he had apparently put some new logs on the fire, because it was blazing brightly and casting a golden glow on his skin. He looked beautiful, although Ennis would sooner die than say those words aloud.

Jack smiled, still not speaking. With both hands he pulled Ennis’s shirt out of his jeans and over his head, tossing it aside. He braced his hands on Ennis’s thighs and kissed him, deliberately, with the intention to seduce, a goal in which he was most certainly succeeding. Then he knelt on the floor again and unbuttoned the front of Ennis’s jeans, keeping his eyes on the quickly hardening cock that appeared.

Ennis was enthralled. Alma had rarely wanted to do this, and only with the lights turned off. Jack on the other hand gave head like a champ, and there weren’t many things in the world that Ennis loved more than watching that man go down on him. A man, yeah; there was no way in hell he could pretend having sex with Jack was having sex with a woman. His body was too muscular, too hairy, his palms were too rough, his jaw too angular. His short hair lay flat against his scalp, offering little for Ennis’s fingers to hang on to. He moved like a man, smelled like a man, kissed like a man. He gave head like a man too, and that night he took his time for it, keeping Ennis on the brink for a record-breaking twenty minutes before he came with a shout and collapsed in the recliner panting.

Perhaps that fantastic blowjob was what had put him in the right mood, perhaps the ambiance and their very comfortable surroundings, but once he was breathing somewhat normally again, Ennis had done something he had never done before. He stood up, quickly shedding his jeans, and indicated - still without speaking - that Jack should do the same. Then he knelt on the bearskin rug in front of the fire, tugging timidly at Jack’s hand.

Unfortunately, Jack didn’t understand what was expected of him. Ennis saw the unspoken question in his eyes and became flustered, not sure how to ask for what he wanted. He tugged again, more insistently. _C’mon. I’m askin’ ya._

Jack’s eyes grew a little larger as understanding dawned. _What-- are ya sure?_

Ennis nodded. _Yeah. I wanna._

Slowly, like he couldn’t believe it, Jack moved closer on his knees. His eyes snapped toward the bathroom. _Need the fuckin’ lube!_ He began to get up.

Ennis stopped him, shaking his head decisively. He spat into his hand and put it on Jack.

 _What the hell?_ Jack frowned. _Are ya crazy?_

Ennis looked hard into his eyes. _I wanna feel what you felt, that first time._

When he turned around and presented himself on all fours, he heard Jack suck in a breath. More spit, and then a hand gripping his hip and a blunt tip of flesh pressing against and into him. _Hell no! Fuck!_ He sank down to his elbows, grinding his teeth together as his flesh was stretched beyond the imaginable. It was weird, unsexy, and it hurt like a motherfucker.

 _Shit. This can’t be natural._ Ennis pushed the thought forcibly away and balled his fists, rocking back despite the pain. _C’mon, cowboy. Make it better._

When Jack first started moving, the pain was so bad that Ennis almost cried out. He had expected some measure of discomfort, but damn, it felt like Jack was trying to unscrew his bowels, one excruciating inch at a time. But then, _then_ , Jack rolled his hips in a way that caused pleasure to jolt through Ennis’s body for the first time. He let his legs fall a little wider, and the next thrust made him see stars. _Oh fuck yeah!_ It was too soon, he couldn’t possibly shoot again so soon after that blowjob, but damn if his cock wasn’t getting harder by the second. Sweat broke out over his body.

“Christ, this is too much,” Jack moaned. “Ennis, talk ta me. Are y’okay?”

Ennis grimaced. He had been biting his lip, afraid of what might come out of his mouth, but he could hold back no longer. “Please.” The entreaty burst from his lips. “More, Jack. Fuck me good.”

A red flag could not have had a stronger effect on a bull than those words did on Jack, and he had fucked Ennis good indeed, giving it just as he liked to get it, and it was definitely in Ennis’s top ten of mind-blowing fucks, and what did that say about him, and why had they never done it this way before, and fuck, was it any wonder Jack had only wanted more of this after that first time?

Jack shot his load pretty quickly, and even Ennis managed to wring a few drops from his aching cock, and then they both collapsed on that tacky bearskin rug, where they remained for a good long while in a state of utter relaxation and bliss.

“Fuck,” Jack muttered after some time, “I wanna cigarette so bad right now, but I'm so damn comfy I don't even wanna move.”

Ennis hummed in agreement. “Well I ain't volunteerin'.”

“Asshole.” Jack rolled over and put his arms around Ennis, kissing him behind the ear. “You really are somethin' else, Ennis.” His voice sounded strange, a bit stifled, like he was crying or just about to. Ennis froze involuntarily, praying to God that Jack wouldn't lose it on him, because he wasn't sure if he could cope with a bawling Jack.

“Could say the same about you,” he said lightly, teasing. “You enjoyed that a bit too much, cowboy. Damn near split my ass in two.”

Jack chortled and hugged Ennis a little tighter still, but Ennis didn’t get the smart-ass response or comeback he had expected. It seemed that for the first time in his life, Jack was truly rendered speechless.

“C'mon, Jack,” Ennis prodded. “What's goin' on with ya?”

“Nothin',” Jack murmured. “I'm just surprised, is all. I didn't think you'd ever wanna do that, ya know? What made ya wanna try it this time?”

“Dunno,” Ennis said truthfully. “I guess I always did, even on Brokeback, but didn't know how ta ask.”

“Only took ya seventeen years ta work up the nerve, then.”

Ennis blushed. “Musta been that radical blowjob ya gave me earlier.”

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” Jack chuckled. “Yeah, in all modesty, I kinda think I was on the top a my game, too.” His arms squeezed Ennis’s torso a little more tightly, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Damn, don't ya just wish we could stay here, forever? That we’d never hafta go back? We could just chop wood for the fire, catch fish 'n have sex like this all the time. 'n If I never hadta see L.D. Newsome again, that would be a nice bonus. Don't ya just wish that, Ennis?”

Ennis closed his eyes, his heart damn near breaking at the idea. He wanted to make a sarcastic remark about the heart attack Don Wroe would probably have if he found out two fags were squatting in his cabin, but instead he just sighed and gave the most truthful answer he could think of. “Yeah, bud. I sure do.”

Damn that cabin. For a week they had felt like gods reigning over their own private kingdom, and then, inevitably, the time had come for them to erase the traces of their visit and lock the door behind them. Damn that cabin with its fireplace and bearskin rug, and damn that picture that had brought it all back in a flash. Ennis closed the album and got up to pour himself a cup of coffee.

When he was in the kitchen, he heard something that alarmed him: the sound of a key being turned in the front door lock. No way in hell that could be Jack; who else would have the key to Jack's apartment? He put down the coffeepot, hesitating momentarily as the front door opened and closed. The intruder was now inside.

“Hello?” A male voice. “Who is there?”

Ennis walked out into the hallway and into the visitor's line of view. He was a tall guy, sporting a neatly trimmed beard, and he was smartly dressed; he wore a tailored jacket and an expensive hat. The two men sized each other up for a moment or two, each knowing instinctively who the other was.

“Well, well,” Randall said with a faint smile, “didn’t expect to see you here, Ennis del Mar.”

It ticked Ennis off that Randall knew his full name. Fuck, what else had Jack been telling this guy? “Sorry for the disappointment. Jack’s still in the hospital, so there ain’t gonna be no fuckin’ here tonight. Might as well turn right around.”

The expression on Randall's face grew a little cooler. “Hey now, don't be like that. I was just bein' neighborly, droppin' by ta water the plants 'n all.”

Ennis snorted. He hadn't seen so much as a cactus in Jack's apartment. “It's all under control.”

“I guess it is.” Randall sniffed the air. “You got coffee?”

Ennis gritted his teeth, realizing that it was pointless to deny. He turned back into the kitchen grudgingly to find an extra cup. He couldn't very well throw Randall out the door - the guy had a key - so the sooner they finished this inevitable little ritual, the better.

“So, you seen Jack?” Randall followed Ennis into the kitchen, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “How’s he doin’?”

Ennis frowned, surprised to learn that Randall was ignorant of the latest developments. “You don’t know?”

Randall gave him a look. “A course not. I'm just a friendly neighbor, get it? Would make a strange impression if I called the hospital every five minutes for an update, so I have ta get my information through the grapevine.”

Ennis poured another cup and put it on the kitchen counter. “Well, he ain't gonna be no vegetable, but the doc says his liver is bad. Man's an alcoholic, basically, but that can’t be no news ta you.”

Randall, unlike Ennis, drank his coffee with milk and sugar, and he knew exactly where to find these items. In fact, he moved around the kitchen like he belonged there, which was oddly painful to watch. “You wanna play the blame game, judge me for lettin’ things get this far? Go right ahead. I may even deserve it. But don't tell me you were totally clueless, 'cause that's just hypocritical. Then again, hypocrisy is one a your strengths, from what I heard.”

“What the hell's that supposed ta mean?”

“Oh, come on. For a man who ain't queer, you sure got an interestin' track record you want no one ta know about.”

“Fuck you,” Ennis growled. He had spotted the gold band on Randall's finger. “The pot callin' the kettle black. You bein’ all up-front with your wife about this little situation you got with Jack here? Yeah, that’s real likely. If you're so damn proud a bein' queer, why don't _you_ ride off into the sunset with 'im, huh?”

“I probly would if he asked me to,” Randall said. “Unfortunately, that ain't gonna happen, 'cause it's you he wants. Nothin' I can do about that.”

Ennis didn't reply, studying his coffee with bowed head. The last thing he wanted was for this prize asshole to see that his words touched a chord.

Randall shook his head. “You know what? You’re an ass. For years this guy’s been waitin' for you ta grow a pair, 'n he's still waitin'. So I'm wonderin', are ya a coward or just plain stupid? ‘Cause if you had any sense in yer noggin, you woulda got your ass down here a long time ago. He’s kinda worth it, ya know. A guy like Jack don’t come along every day.”

“Shut the hell up,” Ennis said, his temper flaring. “I’ve known ‘im for twenty years, you think you’re tellin’ me anythin’ new? I knew ‘im when he was just an eighteen year old kid, so shut your trap, you got no fuckin’ clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You’re the one who ain’t got a fuckin’ clue, pal,” Randall countered, poking Ennis in the chest with his index finger. “I’m not gonna lie, I been worried about Jack these past coupla months. First he comes back from that trip ta Wyomin’ real depressed, drops the bombshell about gettin’ divorced, then he’s settin’ up an appointment with a notary ta get his will drafted. I thought he was preparin’ ta check out, I ain’t kiddin’. One time he was ramblin’ about wantin’ his ashes scattered on some mountain in Wyomin’, ‘n I’ll bet your ass that’s what it says in that will, too.”

An ice cold shiver ran down Ennis’s spine. “What mountain?” he asked, even though in his heart he knew the answer.

“Hell if I know. Point is, you think that’s normal stuff for a healthy guy a thirty-nine ta be talkin’ about? Every time the phone rang, I damn near got a heart attack, thinkin’ it could be Lureen ta tell us Jack’d jumped in front of a train or somethin’. I had visions of medics scrapin’ him off the tracks.”

Ennis’s brain was processing all this at full speed. So Randall did not know everything after all. Ennis felt a strange and, given the circumstances, perhaps somewhat inappropriate sense of relief. So Brokeback at least was still sacred, thank God, that at least was still theirs.

“So what you’re sayin’ is that Jack totaled his car on purpose?” he said, scowling. “’n You wanna blame it on me?”

“I want ya ta take some responsibility for some a this, yeah. No, I don’t think he caused that accident on purpose, but he’s been careless ‘n that’s a fact. You shoulda seen ‘im these last coupla weeks-- man looked like he had nothin’ left ta live for. ‘n I gotta tell ya right now, man ta man, I can’t for the life a me figure out why he’s so hung up on you. You ain’t nothin' special, Ennis del Mar.”

Ennis gnashed his teeth. He didn’t care about Randall’s insults, even more or less agreed with them, but his head was reeling. Before the accident, he had been led to believe that Jack was moving on, building a new life without Ennis, but as the day went on, the image that emerged was that of a man slowly unraveling. Drinking, getting a will drafted, leaving instructions for after his death? Clearly Jack had not been doing quite as well as he had wanted Ennis to think, but contemplating suicide? That didn't sound like the Jack Ennis knew.

“You coulda had somethin' good, Del Mar,” Randall went on, “somethin' many people, includin' me, would kill for ta have. But you hadta be a damn fool 'n stomp all over it, 'cause 'parently you get some sort a kick outta bein' miserable 'n alone, 'n makin' everyone else miserable too. Jack would be better off if he hadn't never met you.”

Ennis didn't have it in him anymore to argue and defend himself. He already carried a load of guilt on his shoulders, he didn't need Randall to pile on some more. “Guess so. Are ya done?”

“I could keep goin’ all night, but I don’t see the point.” Randall let a minute or two go by in silence before he spoke again. “How long are ya stayin' in Texas?”

“None a your fuckin' business. 'n What happens between Jack 'n me ain't your fuckin' business neither.”

“It _is_ my fuckin' business. Would like ta know if I'm gonna be welcome around here or not.”

Ennis’s patience with this guy was wearing paper thin. “Well, you'll have ta ask Jack about that. But if it were up ta me, you'd be handin' in that key right now.”

Randall's eyes narrowed. “Can't say I'm surprised ta hear that. We'll see if Jack agrees, won't we?” He put his empty cup in the sink. “Thanks for the coffee. I'll find my way out.”

Ennis didn't move a muscle as Randall walked out, but once the front door had clicked shut, he trudged down the hallway to slide the chain lock into place, just in case. The standoff with Randall had left him feeling drained, and he decided against calling Alma that night. She would probably ask him where he was at and that would open up a whole new can of worms. No, Alma could wait until he was back in Riverton.

The record had run out of tracks, so he switched off the device and poured himself another cup of coffee. He left Randall's used cup untouched in the sink; he wasn't above cleaning house for a pal, but Jack could damn well wash his fuck buddy's dirty dishes by himself. He then settled on the couch, having no idea what to do with himself. There was a TV in the living room, but he wasn’t in the mood for it, so he ended up flipping through magazines and newspapers. They provided some clues as to what had kept Jack occupied lately: circled ads in the jobs sections, real estate brochures, articles on farming and the meat industry and other indicators that Jack was considering a comeback in the agricultural business. Nothing to suggest that he had been planning to quit life altogether.

By all rights he should be dead tired after such a long and emotional day, but all the male posturing with Randall had given Ennis a shot of adrenaline that was slow to wear off. He was also grumpy because he had thrown away all the booze as well as his cigarettes, and he wished Jack were there to take his mind off things. No better way to unwind and get sleepy than a good fuck.

In the end he switched off the light and stretched himself out on the couch. No chance in hell he would sleep in that room with the box of condoms, under sheets that might still bear the traces of Randall’s neighborly favors. Ennis crossed his arms and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the wheels of his mind to stop spinning, but it was a long time before sleep finally overtook him. Once it did, he slept without having a single dream and woke ten hours later with a full bladder and a very inconvenient morning erection.


	11. Ford

Ennis started the day by jerking off in Jack’s shower. He shaved, put on a clean shirt and went through the kitchen cabinets in search of something to put in his stomach, but came up with little. After a few moments’ hesitation, he donned his coat and hat and went out, hoping against hope that he would find a store that was open on Sunday.

To his surprise, he discovered a small diner that catered to churchgoers returning from Sunday mass with an appetite. He inconspicuously slid into an empty booth and ordered coffee and double servings of eggs on toast, sunny-side up.

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” the waitress asked as she took his order.

“Nope, just passin’ through,” Ennis curtly replied, jiggling his leg and gazing outside. People were too nosy in his opinion, and he rarely engaged in idle chat with strangers, no matter how friendly.

“Not the talkative type, eh?” The waitress smiled. “That’s okay, honey, I don’t need ta hear your life story. Coffee ‘n eggs, comin’ right up.”

Ennis wolfed down his breakfast, knowing that a full stomach would keep him going until well past noon. It was a little past eight; if he left within the hour, and really floored it, he could be home and in bed by midnight. It was going to be a long drive without any cigarettes, though. The bubble gum wasn’t really doing it for him, so he may just have to turn on the radio to keep himself distracted and entertained.

After his third cup of coffee, Ennis paid for the meal and barreled out the door, putting up the collar of his coat and shoving his hands deep into the pockets. The sky was overcast and there was a chilly wind that blew straight through his clothes. As he made his way back to Jack’s apartment, keeping a firm pace, suddenly a car coming from the opposite direction pulled up to the curb, honking. The driver reached across the passenger seat to roll down the window.

“Heya, Mr. Del Mar!” Beaming at Ennis from inside the Dodge was Bobby's smiling face. “I _thought_ that was you!”

“Oh hey, Bobby.” Ennis made his way across the sidewalk and leaned down to peer into the car. “Nice ride you got here.”

“Sweet, huh? High school graduation gift from my grandfolks. Where are you goin’?”

“To your dad’s place. He uh, gave me the keys, ‘n I stayed there last night. I’m gonna go get my things ‘n hit the road. You’re out ‘n about pretty early, kiddo.”

Bobby nodded. “The sheriff’s office called last night. I’m headin’ over there now to collect Dad’s things. His car’s completely wrecked, but there was some important stuff inside, insurance papers ‘n such. Mom sent me to get ‘em. You wanna come with?”

“Uh…” Ennis was caught off guard by the question. He really didn’t want to delay his departure much longer, but he rather liked the kid and found himself wanting to accept. “Won’t take too long, will it?”

“Ten minutes at most.” Bobby opened the door on the passenger side. “Hop in!”

Ennis experienced a weird sense of déjà vu as he slid into the seat next to Bobby. As irony would have it, the kid was wearing a blue shirt and a dark grey hat that could almost pass for the black Stetson that had been Jack’s constant companion on Brokeback.

Bobby gave him a shy half smile. “Uh... Your seatbelt, sir.”

Ennis, who slapped his forehead mentally, fastened the safety belt with an apologetic glance at Bobby. “Right, sorry. Old dogs don’t learn new tricks easily.”

As the car pulled away from the curb, Bobby said, “Wanna hear somethin’ funny? Seatbelt probly saved my Dad’s life. He was completely wasted when he left the bar, probly couldn’t have spelled his own name, but he still remembered to use that fuckin’ seatbelt. What do you make a that?”

“Not a whole lot, Bobby,” Ennis said quietly. “But I sure am glad your Dad’s gonna be okay. How was your visit yesterday?”

“It was fine. Mom got a bit hysterical, but Dad just let her rant until she got it out of her system. She even cried a bit at the end.”

“No kiddin’,” Ennis said. Lureen didn’t strike him as the crying type.

Bobby chuckled. “Yeah, that was outta character to say the least. I mean, they’re divorced ‘n all, and Mom’s always critical of him, but underneath all that she does still care about ‘im, I guess. It was kinda nice to see. Weird, huh?”

“Not that weird at all, Bobby. No kid wants ta see his parents hatin’ on each other. How did your Dad react?”

“Surprised him too, I think. Said he was ashamed for puttin’ us through all that, ‘n that he was gonna do better. We were all gettin’ a bit teary-eyed there for a moment, except for Grandma. She’s great, by the way. I think even Mom likes her.”

“That’s good, Bobby. She’s a real nice lady.”

Bobby frowned, his eyes on the road. “Grandpa though… I don’t know. Dad never talked about 'im, only said they didn’t get along. One time I asked my Mom about it, she said Dad got beat a lot as a kid. That true?”

Ennis cleared his throat, shifting uneasily in his seat. “’fraid so.”

“But why? Why would Grandpa do that to a little kid, his own kid?” Bobby turned slightly to meet Ennis’s eyes. “I don’t get it. I mean, yeah, kids are brats sometimes. I’m sure I was a brat a lot of the time, but Dad never _hit_ me for it.”

“Jack learned from his own dad’s mistakes, kiddo. He didn’t want ya ta be afraid of ‘im like he was afraid a your Grandpa.”

“He said that?”

Ennis shook his head. “No, but I know 'cause it was the same for me. If I found out my girls were scared a me… that would be devastatin'.”

Bobby was silent for a while. “I feel bad for Grandma, too. Dad at least escaped from that ranch. Why does she stay with a man like that?”

“I can’t answer that, Bobby. Marriage is a complicated thing, a sacred institution, ‘n your Gran’s a god-fearin’ woman.”

“Are you married, sir?”

“Divorced.” Ennis smiled wistfully. “I got married at nineteen, was a dad a year later. Way too young 'n stupid for important stuff like that. You datin’ someone, Bobby?”

“Not at the moment, 'n I’m definitely not gettin’ married at nineteen. Dad always tells me to wait a bit longer, too. I told ‘im he was worryin’ for nothing. I mean, maybe in your time it was totally normal, but these days no one’s gettin’ married at nineteen anymore.”

The somewhat naïve remark made Ennis smile. Bobby was a privileged kid, who probably hung out with other kids like himself whose parents could afford to pay for a good education. “Your dad told me you’re goin’ ta college.”

Bobby nodded. “Next year, at Alamo. Should be pretty excitin’.”

“I’ll say. Bet your dad’s real proud a you.”

Bobby gave a shy grin. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess.”

“You picked a major yet?”

“Nope,” Bobby said cheerfully. “I’m keepin’ my options open.”

“Good thinkin’, kiddo. My advice, pick somethin’ that’ll get a bit of a cash flow goin’. People sayin’ money don’t matter, bullshit. A nice paycheck makes life a whole lot easier, lemme tell you.”

Bobby laughed. “My folks would probly say I should pick somethin’ that makes me happy. But thanks for the advice, sir. I will keep that in mind.”

Bobby parked the car just outside the county sheriff’s office, and together he and Ennis entered the ordinary-looking building that was situated between a steak house and a hardware store. Inside, a deputy sheriff in uniform was seated behind a desk, filling out forms.

“G’day, Officer Warrick,” Bobby greeted, tipping his hat. Ennis also murmured a hello, taking off his hat by force of habit.

“Hey, Twist. What can I do for ya?”

“I’m here for my Dad’s things. From the car? You people called to the house yesterday.”

“Oh. Right.” Officer Warrick leaned back in his chair, scratching his temple. “I was expectin’ your ma, ta be honest. She outside in the car?”

“Nope, I came by myself. Is there a problem?”

“We got a bit of a problem-type situation, yeah.” Warrick got up from his chair and took a cardboard box from one of the shelves behind him. “Thing is, Bobby, one a the things we found in your dad’s car is this.” He opened the box and took out a handgun, placing it on the desk in front of him. “We removed the bullets, but as you can probly understand, we can’t sign this over to a minor.”

Bobby stared at the gun incredulously. “That came from my Dad’s car?”

“You didn’t know he kept a gun?”

“I had no idea. What would he even need one for? My Dad has no enemies.” Looking worried, Bobby met the officer’s gaze. “Is he gonna get in trouble for this?”

“It ain't illegal to keep a registered handgun, kiddo. But we’re gonna need your ma ta sign for this.”

“Does it hafta be my ma?” Bobby glanced at Ennis. “Mr. Del Mar here is a family friend. He could sign for it, right?”

Warrick now also turned to Ennis. “You willin’ ta do that, sir?”

Ennis’s first reaction was to refuse - he was already way more involved in Jack’s life than he had ever expected to be, and he didn’t care much for the idea of signing some legal documents that would end up in the Childress law enforcement archives - but he got the feeling that Bobby did not want his mother to find out about the existence of this gun. And after the meeting the lady in person, he kind of understood why. “No problem, officer."

“Okay then, do ya have some identification?”

With a look of resignation, Ennis handed over his driver’s license and signed his name at the bottom of the form Warrick gave him. Ennis del Mar: fishing buddy, emergency contact, family friend, and, so it seemed, official custodian of Jack Twist’s personal effects.

“It’s a good thing I ran into you, sir,” Bobby said, looking satisfied. “You can just leave the stuff at my Dad’s place before you go. It all works out perfectly!”

“Okay, that’s that,” Officer Warrick said as he gave Ennis his driver’s license back. “Then there’s the matter of the car, which is currently sittin’ in our back lot. The guy in the other car, the one your Dad almost hit, ain’t pressin’ charges. He was a bit shaken, but he’s okay and there ain’t a scratch on his car. If there was gonna be a case, your Dad’s car would be evidence, but now it’s just a heap of trash, basically. We’d like ta have it towed ay-ass-ay-pee.”

“The car is here?” Bobby chewed his lip. “Can I see it?”

Warrick looked doubtful. “You sure that’s a good idea? Might be a bit of a shock for ya.”

Bobby shook his head, straightening his shoulders somewhat. “I wanna see it. I mean, I’d like to see the car, officer.”

Warrick shrugged. “Okay, so long as you’re sure. This way.”

“How’s your dad doin’, anyway?” the deputy asked as they exited through the front door and made their way around the building.

“He’s okay, I guess,” Bobby replied. “Things were touch 'n go for a while, but the doctors are optimistic now. I saw him yesterday, ‘n he’s hopin’ to get discharged in a few days.”

“I’m glad ta hear that, Bobby. Your dad’s a decent guy, good citizen.”

“When he’s not drivin’ drunk,” Bobby added dryly.

“Yeah, we're gonna hafta have a little talk with him about that.” The deputy opened a gate with one of the keys at his belt and let them enter. In the back lot were several patrol cars, all lined up and ready for use. The very last car in the line was Jack’s beautiful, rust-colored 1982 Ford F-100, or rather, its carcass. Bobby, who stood next to Ennis, muttered a curse his momma definitely would not approve of, but Ennis would have had a few choice words of his own to say if only he could have unglued his jaw. The last time Ennis saw this very car, back in May, it had been brand new, the spotless chrome parts reflecting the light of the sun. He and Jack had made out like horny teenagers against the side of that car, dry-humping through their jeans as they kissed deep and hard.

Now it was a sad and broken wreck. The front of the car had obviously taken the brunt of the hit-- the collision had left it badly mangled and near unrecognizable. The windshield was somehow still in place, but the glass was almost completely cracked in a spider web pattern. One of the front tires was missing its hubcap, and the door on the driver’s side was also gone. The deputy explained that the steel was so badly deformed that the emergency services had had to remove the door with force to get to Jack. The seatbelt had been cut with a knife for the same purpose.

“My God,” Bobby kept saying, “my God.” The kid looked shaken, and understandably so. Ennis felt equally gutted at the sight of all that destruction.

“Yep,” the deputy said, “this baby ain’t goin’ nowhere except ta the automobile graveyard. So what do you reckon, Bobby? Towing company can take care of it tomorrow.”

It occurred to Ennis that it was quite irresponsible of Warrick to put this kind of decision on the shoulders of a teenager, and he wondered if he should say something, but Bobby surprised him.

“No, officer, if it’s okay I’d like you to keep the car for a few more days. My Dad should be the one to decide, ‘n I think he needs to see this before it’s towed.” Bobby looked grim. “I want him to see it.”

Obviously this was not the outcome Warrick had been hoping for, but he nodded in understanding. “Fair enough, Bobby. We’ll keep it here until your dad gets outta the hospital, no prob.”

“Thanks for your time, officer. We’ll see ourselves out. G’day.” Bobby tipped his hat and marched out of the lot. Ennis followed, the box with Jack’s belongings under his arm.

“You okay, Bobby?” he asked as they reached the parked Dodge Ramcharger. “That musta been pretty intense.”

“Well, I been better.” Bobby kicked distractedly at a pebble on the sidewalk, frowning as he gazed down the road. “Shit, he coulda just _died_ in that thing, you know? All because he couldn’t be bothered to call a cab. Fuckin’ stupid. ‘n What the hell is the deal with that gun? I know he’s a cowboy at heart ‘n all, but it just don’t make no sense to me.”

Ennis, who knew exactly why Jack kept a gun, put a hand on Bobby’s shoulder-- a spontaneous gesture with which he surprised himself. “Your dad’s goin’ ta be okay, kiddo, ‘n I reckon he’s learned his lesson. No use worryin’ about what coulda been.”

“I know.” Bobby sighed. “C’mon, I’ll take you back to the apartment. I promised it would only be ten minutes ‘n it’s been at least double that already. Sorry for the delay.”

“It’s okay, Bobby. I'm glad we got ta talk a bit before I go home.”

“Yeah? Me too.” Bobby smiled. “I wish we had more time though. You could tell me about how you 'n Dad met.”

“What would ya like ta know?” Ennis asked as they got into the car. This time Bobby didn't need to remind him about the safety belt.

“Oh, I don't know. Just what he was like, I guess. I know he rode the bulls 'n all, 'cause that's how he 'n Mom met, but I bet you know other interestin' stuff.”

Ennis drew the insides of his cheeks between his teeth. He would have to weigh his words very carefully, here. “You really innerested in all that ancient history?”

“Sure! Why not? I only know my Dad as, well, my Dad. Would be nice to know what he was like as a young guy.”

“Well...” Ennis sighed. “Not sure what ta tell you, kiddo. Your Dad 'n I worked together for a summer in '63, herdin' sheep for a right bastard name a Joe Aguirre. Jack 'n I shook hands outside his office, 'n that was that. Your dad was real friendly right off the bat, talkin' a lot, askin' a bunch a questions 'n whatnot. Bragged about bein' a bull rider, liked showin' off his ridin' skills. His mare startled a lot, threw 'im a coupla times, 'n he wasn't proud a that. He played the harmonica, badly. Sound a that thing drove me fuckin' crazy. He complained all the time, about everythin'. He was a lazy bum, 'n he couldn't make a decent pot a coffee ta save his life.”

“Wow.” Bobby smiled. “Sounds like it was a pretty bad time for you.”

Ennis shook his head. “No, it wasn't. We got on each other's nerves now 'n then, sure, but things weren't never borin' with your dad around. If it had been just me up there, I probly woulda got a lot more work done, but it was good ta have a pal nearby. 'n That's what he was, a good pal. Best I ever had.”

“And you stayed in touch ever since?”

Ennis cleared his throat. “No, we sort a lost sight of each other for a coupla years. Lives goin' different directions, ya know. Got back in touch in '67. He passed through the area, came ta visit. Told me he had a little boy, eight months old, who smiled a lot. Didn't think one day I'd be drivin' places with that same kid.”

Bobby chuckled. “Life's pretty weird, huh?”

“That's a fact, Bobby. But tell you what, I sure am glad Jack's got a boy that loves 'im.”

Bobby looked a bit sheepish. “Course I do. I mean, we butt heads now 'n then, and it can be pretty embarrassin' when he's had a few beers 'n starts chattin' up my friends, but as far as dads go he's okay. He taught me to drive a combine when I was five. Mom woulda raised hell over it, so it was like our little secret, which was cool. And he let me help 'im light the fireworks on the Fourth a July 'n stuff like that. Lookin' back, it's like he was in some ways still a kid himself, you know?” Bobby's expression turned grave. “I don't know why that changed. The Dad I knew back then, it's like he's gone. He never really laughs anymore. He won't tell me nothin' because I'm just a kid, but I know somethin's up. I mean, all that drinkin', there's gotta be a reason for that, right?”

Ennis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “People don't just decide one day ta become alcoholics, Bobby. I'd say it's a bad habit gone haywire, 'n you don't realize how bad it is 'till you're right in the middle of it. But your dad's gonna turn the page, kid, so try not ta worry, okay? You got other important things goin' on.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said, but he didn't seem convinced. Ennis felt bad for the kid.

“Listen, Bobby, Jack's been makin' some bad decisions but none a that is your fault, okay? Not your responsibility either. You're leavin' for college soon 'n that's all you should be thinkin' about. Your dad’s wants ya to do well over there, not gettin’ distracted by all this.”

Ennis fell silent, wondering where all this was coming from. Christ, he had never dispensed so much sage advice in his life, but the fact of the matter was that Bobby appealed to his fatherly instincts.

“I know,” Bobby said. “I guess I just feel bad, you know? He’s livin’ in that apartment all alone, ‘n here I go movin' halfway across the state.”

“I get it, Bobby, but it’s not your job ta worry about your old man. Leave that ta your grandma ‘n me, all right? We’re gonna be after ‘im like bloodhounds ta make sure he gets better. Your dad ain’t alone in this, I promise.”

“Yeah, okay.” Bobby offered him a thankful smile. “That does make me feel a bit better, sir, thanks.”

Once they were back at Bella Vista Drive and Bobby had parked the car in front of Jack’s apartment building, they said goodbye with a firm handshake.

“Thanks again for everythin’, sir,” Bobby said. “Have a safe trip.”

“Gotta stop thankin’ me, Bobby,” Ennis replied. “Was a pleasure meetin’ ya. Good luck startin’ college. I’m sure I’ll hear through your dad how it’s goin’.”

Bobby rolled the window down and lifted his hand in a casual greeting as he drove off. “See ya!”

Slowly Ennis climbed the stairs to the apartment, carrying the box with Jack’s personal belongings. His duffel bag was waiting behind the door, ready for departure, but Ennis ignored it as he walked straight into the living room, sat down on the couch and picked up the telephone receiver.

“Information, good morning.”

“I need the ICU of St. Sebastian’s Hospital in Amarillo, please,” Ennis said.

“One moment, sir.”

There was a brief silence, then two rings and a click. A woman, probably a nurse, answered the phone, and he politely asked her if he could speak with Mr. Twist. He knew that Jack had a phone in his room, because he had seen it with his own eyes the day before.

“I’ll check if he is able to take your call, sir,” she said, and then the line went dead.

It took a while, but finally there was another click. “Hello?”

Ennis smiled, somehow relieved to hear Jack’s voice. “Hey, bud.”

A beat of silence. “Ennis? Shit, you weren’t kiddin’ after all when you said you were gonna call.”

“Didn’t believe me, didja?”

“I had my doubts. Is this goin’ ta be the norm, then? You callin’ out of the blue, showin’ up unexpected places?”

“So what if it is?”

“Hey, I ain't complainin'. I’ll just hafta adjust my expectations, I guess. Where are ya?”

“At your place still. Just wanted ta check in ‘n let you know I’m headin’ off in a bit.”

“Right.”

“What’s up with you?”

“Not much. I was outta bed for a few minutes this mornin’, walked ta the bathroom ‘n took a leak. Are ya proud?”

Ennis couldn’t suppress a smile. “Sure am, bud. Take it easy, though.”

“How 'bout you? Sleep well?”

“Good enough. I took care a that thing you asked me ta do. Got so into it, I even forgot ta keep a beer for myself.”

Jack chuckled. “Aw, shucks. You found that pizza in the freezer though?”

“Yep. Found a few other things as well.”

“Yeah, I figgered you’d be doin’ some snoopin’. That’s okay, I got nothin’ ta hide from you.”

“At least not anymore, ya don’t.” Here Ennis paused. “Guess who stopped by last night. Randall, your friendly neighbor.”

Jack took a moment to respond. “He knew you were there?”

“Not sure. But he had a few opinions he was happy ta share.”

“No shit. I’ll bet that went over real well.”

“Jack…” Ennis drew a hand over his eyes. “I’m not callin’ ta start a fight with you. But Randall said a few things that got me worried. I need you ta be totally honest with me here.”

“Okay.” Jack sighed. “What did he say?”

“He said you went to a notary ta get a will drafted.”

“Well, that’s true enough. That what got you worried? I just got divorced, Ennis, ‘n I don’t trust Lureen for shit. I got a few wishes, ‘n I wanna make sure they’re carried out when I’m gone.”

“Randall said you mentioned somethin’ about havin’ your ashes scattered on a mountain. I’m guessin’ that’s Brokeback.”

For a few moments, Ennis could only hear Jack breathing. “Yep.”

“That’s morbid, Jack.”

“’s Not morbid, ’s providence. We’re all mortal, Ennis. It’s just good sense ta plan ahead.”

Ennis played absently with the telephone cord. “Wanna tell me what else is in this will a yours?”

“Nothin’ revolutionary. Most a my stuff ‘n assets goes ta Bobby, includin’ my records. My ma gets a few things ‘n some money. ‘n You are set ta inherit my car.”

“Your car?” Ennis frowned. “I never asked for your car.”

“Well, I wanted to leave ya _something_. Car was the best thing I could think of.”

Ennis glanced at the box on his lap. “Hate ta look a gift horse in the mouth, bud, but I saw your car this mornin’, ‘n I don’t want it.”

“What do you mean, ya saw my car?”

Ennis quickly explained how he and Bobby had run into each other, and how the visit to the sheriff’s office had played out. “I got your stuff here right now. I hadta be the one ta sign for it ‘cause a the gun.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Jack seemed to hesitate. “So Bobby found out his old man drives around with a gun, huh?”

“Yeah. I think that threw 'im for a bit of a loop, Jack. Kid said you got no enemies.” Ennis was jiggling his leg, working up the courage to ask the inevitable question. “Jack, you keepin’ that gun for protection, right?”

“Yeah, like I told you.”

“For protection only?”

“What the hell are ya implyin’, Ennis?" Jack said sharply. "Do ya honestly think I was plannin’ ta blow my brains out?”

“I don’t know what ta think!” Ennis shot back. “But Randall seemed pretty sure somethin’ was up with you, ‘n from what he told me, can’t say I blame ‘im. So if you’re plannin’ somethin’, better tell me right now so I can kick your ass for it.”

There was a long silence, and when Jack spoke again, he sounded like he was forcing himself to stay calm. “Ennis, I don’t know what Randall told ya, but suicide ain’t on my to-do list, okay? Sure, I been miserable ‘n lonely, ‘n startin’ over is hard. There’s been times when I just wanted it all ta be over, but I swear killin' myself wasn't never part a the plan. ‘n I sure hope that ain’t what Bobby thinks, too.”

“I don’t think so, Jack. But he's worried about ya, big time.”

“Sounds like the two a you had quite a conversation about me.”

“Yeah, we chatted for a bit. He wanted ta know stuff about you, so I told ‘im how we got ta be friends ‘n all. The short version, a course. Hope that’s okay.” Ennis cleared his throat. “He’s a great kid, Jack.”

Jack hummed, in contentment apparently. “I’d say thanks, but I’m not sure I can take the credit.”

“Sure you can. You raised ‘im, you ‘n Lureen.” Ennis's voice dropped somewhat. “He reminds me a lot a you, actually. He’s friendly ‘n chatty like you, pleasant ta be around. Got a warm smile, ‘n a good head on his shoulders.”

“Aw, Ennis, quit it. I’m gettin’ all weepy here.” A soft cough, followed by some sniffles on the other end of the line. “Hey, guess what. You remember my doctor?”

Ennis nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Well, turns out, he’s gay.”

“Oh yeah? How d’ya figger that?” Ennis frowned. “He make a move on you?”

“Fuck, no.” Jack laughed. “He told me, okay? Him ‘n his fella live here in Amarillo. Couldn’t hardly believe it. That sweet life I useta talk about, Ennis, they got it. ‘n They got it right here in Texas.”

Something in Jack’s voice caused Ennis’s throat to clog up tight. It was the sound of hope, something he hadn’t heard in a while. “Jack, I… I don’t know what ta say.”

“You don’t hafta say nothin’. It was just… God, it was refreshin’, ya know? It’s like this guy lives in a totally different world. No fishin’ trips, no tire irons, no lyin’ or cheatin’. They’re livin’ that life every day, ‘n he talked about it like it ain’t nothin’ outta the ordinary.”

Ennis leaned forward, rubbing his face. “’n He knows about you, too?”

“Yeah, Ennis, but you don’t hafta worry, okay? Patient-doctor confidentiality ‘n all. Besides, he’s a nice guy.” Jack sighed. “God, Ennis, I want that kind a life. I want it so bad.”

“I know, bud, I know you do.” Ennis’s voice had become almost inaudible. “Lemme have those sixteen weeks, okay? I got some things ta make right in Riverton, ‘n you need ta concentrate on gettin’ better. Just promise me you won’t do anythin’ stupid.”

“Like blowin’ my brains out?” Jack said dryly. “That ain’t gonna happen, Ennis. I said I was gonna get my act together ‘n I will."

"I'm countin' on that, bud." Ennis was jiggling his leg again, wishing he didn't have to end the call. "I should probly hang up now. Got a long drive ahead a me."

"Sure do. Hey, Ennis? Don't go over Colorado Springs, okay? Take the 287 through Dumas 'n Stratford, you'll save some time."

"Sure thing, Jack. Thanks. I uh, I'll call ya later this week, 'n you better believe I will."

"I'll be waitin' by the phone, cowboy. Drive safe."

After hanging up, Ennis spent a few more minutes organizing, making sure he hadn't left any lights burning and checking if the kitchen appliances were switched off. He hid the box with the gun under the couch and left an explanatory note on the kitchen table. As he threw his duffel bag over his shoulder and locked the door behind him, he could not help but wonder how in hell he was going to face the guys at work tomorrow and pretend that everything was still the same, while in fact nothing was, nor ever would be again.


	12. Alma

_-six weeks later-_

Ennis was playing nervously with the salt and pepper shakers, glancing at the restaurant entrance every few seconds. He didn’t wear a watch, never had, but he knew that Alma was running late, and it was out of character for Alma to run late. When they were still married, she had been the one who made their household run like clockwork, and he didn’t believe for one second that she had become less of a stickler for punctuality since their divorce. Perhaps she had decided not to come after all.

When they spoke on the phone a week earlier, he had done as Mrs. Twist had suggested and asked Alma if she would meet him for dinner. Unsurprisingly, Alma hadn’t exactly been thrilled, but in the end she had agreed, probably for lack of a good excuse. He couldn’t really blame her; no woman in her right mind would enjoy the idea of sitting face-to-face with her queer ex-husband for the duration of three courses. He himself wasn’t convinced this was such a great idea, and he was torn between wanting to get it over with and hoping he wouldn’t have to go through with it, tonight or ever. He knew he owed Alma the truth, but some of the things he would have to tell her if she did come had never passed his lips before. Also, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep his temper in check if she started venting her personal opinion of Jack again.

No, she had to come. He had been back in Riverton for six weeks now, which meant that he had only ten weeks left to get his act together, and yet he didn’t feel as though he had made even the slightest bit of progress. This talk with Alma was a hurdle that had to be taken if he wanted to figure out where to go from here. He didn’t expect to get Alma’s blessing, or even her forgiveness, but she deserved to know why their marriage had failed, and why it hadn’t been her fault.

 _Calm the fuck down_ , he kept telling himself. _She ain’t the Antichrist. It’s only Alma, girl you were married to for twelve years._

The waitress was looking at him sympathetically from behind the register. Probably because he was sitting here like a lame-ass loser who was being stood up by his date. Fucking pathetic. He lifted his glass of Coke and tried to look casual as he nipped. He had hit the Coke hard after weaning himself off of liquor. He still drank the occasional cold beer, but eventually he might even stop doing that. Booze didn’t taste all that good anymore after Texas.

Ennis called collect to Texas every Wednesday at 8 PM on the dot. It had been an amazingly easy promise to keep, and now he even found himself looking forward to those Wednesday evenings and hearing Jack’s voice. Sometimes their conversations lasted only a few minutes, but last time they had talked for almost thirty. Jack had been upbeat; he was six weeks sober, his broken arm had healed and he had just scored a new job as a sales rep for a local company that manufactured dairy cattle fodder. With obvious glee, he described to Ennis the moment he’d walked into L.D. Newsome’s office and handed him his resignation letter.

_“Wish you coulda been there, Ennis! Old bastard looked like he’d crapped his pants. It was fuckin’ awesome.”_

_Ennis had never met the Newsome patriarch, but he could appreciate the mental image all the same. “Congrats, bud. Sounds like you had a pretty good week.”_

_“You bet. Now I just hafta serve out my time until the end of the year, clear out my desk ‘n then I’ll be gone for good. Ain’t felt this great in ages.”_

_“Proud a you, Jack. So I guess this means you’re gonna stick it out in Childress after all?”_

_“For the time bein’. I got no intentions a keepin’ this job forever, but I just hadta get away from L.D. He was watchin’ me like a hawk all the fuckin’ time, pushin’ my buttons every chance he got. Lureen told ‘im I’m with the AA, a course, so that gave ‘im some ammo against me. Caught ‘im snoopin’ in my office one time, like I’d actually be stupid enough ta keep a bottle a Scotch in one a my desk drawers.”_

_“What a tool.”_

_“Tool is right. Tell you what, I had the best Thanksgivin’ a my life this year, first in eighteen years without the Newsomes. Just me, dinner from the microwave ‘n the game on TV. What more does a guy need?” Jack chuckled and answered his own question. “Well, I admit a beer in my hand ‘n a good-lookin’ cowboy by my side woulda been neat, but it’s good ta have things ta wish for, right?”_  
  
 _Ennis managed a watery smile. “Do you miss it, the booze?”_  
  
 _“Sure I do. Drinkin’s been a habit for years, ‘n quittin’ habits is tough. But this whole experience done taught me that I’m more attached to my liver than to the bottle, ‘n it’s goin’ okay, I guess. I got a good sponsor ‘n I ain’t had no relapses.” A brief pause. “I miss my cowboy too, as per usual. Miss ‘im somethin’ awful.”_  
  
 _Ennis never knew quite how to respond to remarks like that. “I thought these calls would help with that.”_  
  
 _A short laugh burst from Jack’s mouth. “Sure, it’s an improvement compared to before, but a few minutes a hearin’ your voice each week ain’t gonna sustain me in the long run. You ain’t forgettin’ about our deal, are you?”_  
  
 _“A course not. I was the one suggested it. I just need some time ta-”_  
  
 _“Ta figger things out, yeah, I know. You makin’ any progress with that?”_  
  
 _Ennis hesitated, wishing he had better news to tell Jack. “I’m gettin’ there, bud. I’m meetin’ Alma in a few days, gonna tell her the truth ‘bout you ‘n me.” He said it with more confidence than he actually felt._

_“I thought she already knew the truth.”_

_“Nah. She’s got a pretty good hunch, but that’s about it. Couple a Thanksgivins ago, she started askin’ ’bout you, out a the blue, if we still went fishin’ like we useta do. She useta wonder why I never brought any fish home, she said, ‘n she found out that I never used any a the gear I hauled up those mountains.”_

_“How?”_

_“’Cause a the price tags.”_

_“Damn.” An embarrassed little chuckle from Jack. “She’s a clever gal. I told Lureen I let you have all the fish, but she never seemed ta care one way or the other. Our marriage got so lackluster after Bobby was born, you know? Sometimes I think she musta known I was havin’ an affair, but she never even cared t’ask. A course, she musta thought I was seein’ another woman on the sly.”_

_“Are you gonna tell her, Jack? About bein’ queer?”_

_“Sure I am, just not yet. I wanna tell Bobby first, before he goes off to college.”_

_Ennis bit his lip nervously. “How do you think he’ll take it?”_

_“Not sure, ‘n that’s the scary part. I want ‘im ta hear it directly from me, ‘n I wanna see his face when I tell ‘im. I don’t care about nobody else, but I don’t want my son ta hate me, you know?”_

_“I’m sure he won’t hate ya,” Ennis said, trying his best to sound upbeat. “Bobby seemed like a pretty laid-back kid to me.”_ Not the type ta take a tire iron to his own dad _, was the thought that flashed through Ennis’s mind the next moment, but he pushed it forcefully away._

_“Yeah. It’ll be okay, I hope. Anyway, lemme know how that talk with Alma goes, cowboy. I’ll be rootin’ for ya.”_

Ennis ordered another Coke and went to the gents’, not because he had to go but because it was the only way to inconspicuously check the time. It was 7:18 PM, which meant that Alma was almost twenty minutes late. Ennis decided he would give her until 7:30. If being stood up was his punishment for a failed marriage, he could live with that, but he wasn’t going to suffer a minute longer than necessary.

After he had washed his hands in the bathroom sink, Ennis almost wiped them dry on his jeans, but he stopped himself just in time. For this occasion he had made a rare effort to smarten up, and he was wearing his best shirt and jeans, even cologne. He hoped Alma would appreciate the attempt. He ran his fingers through his hair and headed back into the dining room to continue the waiting game. It was 7:21.

Ennis had chosen this restaurant, The Bucking Bronco, for a reason. It was sparsely lit and furnished in an old-fashioned western style, with booths that offered patrons some semblance of privacy. There was also a bar that would draw quite a crowd on a Saturday night. That, combined with the game on tv, would cause enough background noise to make sure Ennis’s confessions would not be heard by anyone but Alma. The fact that they served a mean steak was just a nice bonus, really.

By the time Ennis finished his second Coke, his nerves were shot. Just as he was considering another trip to the bathroom, the door of the restaurant opened with a jingle and Alma walked in. Ennis shot up from his bench, bumping his knee against the table. “Hey, Alma,” he said, rubbing the sore spot with a grimace.

“Ennis.” She looked tired, stretched thin, as she always did when she was pregnant. With their girls it had been like that, too. “I’m sorry, but I only came here ta say I can’t go through with this.”

“Huh?”

“This dinner.” Her eyes strayed nervously, shying away from his. “Why’d you even invite me, Ennis? After all this time? It just ain’t appropriate. Monroe thinks so too. He’s out in the car waitin’.”

“Alma.” He reached out without thinking, touching her arm and abruptly pulling back his hand when she flinched. “Please, you gotta stay. You ‘n me gotta talk.”

“Oh yeah? ’Bout what? Nothin’ left ta say.”

“Please, Alma.” Ennis was practically begging. “Have a drink at least, I’m buyin’. How ‘bout a glass a wine, you still like that don’tcha?”

She gave him a dirty look. “I’m pregnant, Ennis.”

“Right. Sorry. What’re you havin’, then?”

“I don’t want nothin’.” She sighed. “I’ll give ya five minutes ta say your piece, ‘n then I’m out a here.” She lowered herself onto the seat opposite his, looking very uncomfortable and annoyed with the circumference of her belly.

“You look good, Alma,” Ennis commented as he also sat down.

“You’re such a bad liar.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “My ankles’re swollen, my feet hurt ‘n I ain’t slept in days. I feel like crap, ‘n I can’t look much better.”

“Sorry ta hear that.” Ennis bit his lip. He had forgotten how touchy and grouchy Alma got when she was expecting. The timing really couldn’t be worse.

They had barely settled in when the waitress appeared at their booth, toting a notepad. “Are y’all ready ta order?”

“Another Coke ‘n a steak for me, well done,” Ennis said. “C’mon, Alma, have a look at the menu.”

“No, thank you,” she said stiffly. “You got five minutes, Ennis, ‘n the clock is tickin’.”

“Okay, okay.” Ennis glanced at the waitress, who was still standing by their booth. “That’ll be all, I guess.” The girl nodded and left with his empty glass.

“Since when do you drink Coke?” Alma asked. “You useta say fizzy drinks was for teenagers. What happened to beer?”

“I quit drinkin’, more or less.” Ennis scratched his temple. “Smokin’ too.”

“What?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

“I’m gettin’ to that.” Ennis glanced around and cleared his throat, diving right in. “Alma, this ain’t easy for me, but I owe ya an apology. For uh… the way things ended ‘tween us, you know, the divorce ‘n all. I done caused ya a lot a hurt, ‘n I’m sorry.”

Alma’s shoulders stiffened visibly. “That’s all over ‘n done with, Ennis. No use in dredgin’ up the past.”

“It’s in the past, yeah, but over ‘n done with it ain’t. I been a bad husband to ya a lot a the time, ‘n I never said sorry for any of it. Ain’t right. Truth is, Alma… it wasn’t never your fault.”

“I _know_ it wasn’t my fault,” she bit out. “I _know_ I deserved better, that’s why I filed for divorce. Let it go, Ennis. I got a good husband now, who loves me ‘n takes care a me like you never did.”

The waitress returned with a Coke, a napkin and cutlery for Ennis. Both Alma and Ennis fell silent, awkwardly avoiding each other’s eyes until the girl was gone.

“Okay, Alma.” Ennis sighed and rubbed his face tiredly. “I know you’re angry, ‘n you got every right. Just hear me out, okay? We was married for twelve years, ‘n it wasn’t _all_ bad. We got two beautiful girls together, that’s gotta count for somethin’.”

Alma nodded tersely. “I’m here, ain’t I? Those girls love their daddy, ‘n they was always askin’ me why their mommy ‘n daddy didn’t love each other. Broke my heart ever’time, Ennis.”

He nodded, playing with the fork the waitress had put in front of him. “Mine too, Alma. ‘n I’ll carry that guilt with me always, ‘cos those girls deserved better, too. They deserved a daddy who wasn’t no lyin’ sonofabitch like me. Who wasn’t no--” Ennis lowered his face into his hands, thirty years of suppressed fear and prejudice forcing the hated words back into his throat. “Goddammit.”

_Even after all that time, he remembers everything. How bright the sun was that day, how the air vibrated with heat. His daddy’s big hand lay warm and heavy in his neck, forcing him to keep walking even as he stumbled, forcing him to look at the corpse in the ditch, beaten dead and left to the crows. He remembers the smell, too. Ennis grew up on a farm; he knows the smell of death better than anyone. But it was no cow or pig in that ditch, it was--_

_“Lookit that, boys. That there’s old Earl. That filthy faggot won’t be suckin’ cocks no more, right K.E.?”_

_“Right, daddy.”_

_“Fuckin’ queers.” Jim del Mar spat. “There’s a special place in hell for all a them cocksuckers, ‘n the sooner they get there, the better. The guys that got ol’ Earl here did the whole community a favor.”_

“Ennis. Ennis!” Alma reached across the table to shake him by the shoulder. “What’s wrong? You’re tremblin’.”

Ennis looked up wildly, wide eyes trying to focus on Alma, who was frowning at him. Her lips were moving, but he only heard his own ragged breathing. It was an awful sound.

“God, Ennis, are you hyperventilatin’?” Alma was actually starting to look concerned. “You need some water?”

He shook his head and took his hat off, wiping his damp brow with his sleeve. “Alma… I never done told ya how my daddy took me ‘n my brother ta see a dead man, did I?”

She frowned. “You mean like a wake or somethin’?”

“No, not a wake. Just a body in a ditch, back home. An old rancher who never bothered nobody. Some guys ganged up on ‘im with tire irons, spurred ‘im up, drug ‘im 'round by his dick 'till it pulled off.”

Alma shook her head slowly, not understanding. “Why?”

“’Cos he was queer.” Ennis had whispered it, yet he glanced around nervously to make sure no one had heard. “He was shackin’ up with another fella, ‘n the townsfolk didn’t approve a that. My dad made sure me ‘n K.E. got the message, made us look until I damn near threw up, the stench was so bad. There was crows all over the place, peckin’ at ‘im. Ever’time I see ‘em birds, I think a Earl, ‘n how… how I’m like ‘im.”

Alma’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Her doe eyes were wide, staring, silently asking. Had he expected her to make a scene, scream, stab him with the steak knife? That wasn’t Alma. If she was bitter and angry, it was because he had made her so. She was a good woman, a kind woman, and when he saw how she was hanging on to his every word, he suddenly knew that he had finally done something right. After all this time, the truth - even a shameful, hurtful truth - would indeed set them free.

“Couple a months before you ‘n I got married,” he said, “I took that summer job in Signal. But it wasn’t just me there, like I done told ya. I got teamed up with some fella from Lightnin’ Flat, name a Jack Twist.”

Alma’s mouth formed a thin line at the name, but she somehow kept her composure and let him continue. Maybe she remembered that awful Thanksgiving, when she had tried to force the truth from Ennis and everything had blown up in the worst possible way.

“We wasn’t never fishin’ buddies, see. We met on the job, herdin’ sheep on Br-- on some mountain. I can’t tell ya what happened up there, Alma, ‘cos after twenty years I still don’t rightly understand it myself. But when the job was done me ‘n Jack parted ways, ‘n I thought that was that. I got married to a cute gal, had me a little family, ‘n we was doin’ okay moneywise. Life was pretty good, ‘n I really thought that that thing with Jack, ‘n those funny feelins were over ‘n done with. ‘n Then ’67 rolls around ‘n Jack walks up to the house ‘n… I can’t explain it. It was like bein’ hit by an 18-wheeler. No reins on that one, no reins at all.”

Ennis was sweating profusely as some long-repressed emotions came rushing to the surface. The story was coming out all wrong, the words all jumbled, but now that he had started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. Alma was like a statue, still and pale.

“I’m so sorry, Alma,” he mumbled brokenly. “I never meant ta be… that way. I kept thinkin’ maybe I could change, for you ‘n for the girls. I seen what happens to guys like me. I think about it ever’day, I’m always lookin’ over my shoulder, waitin’ for it.”

“Waitin’ for what?”

Ennis looked up, surprised that out of all possible questions, she asked him this one first. “The tire irons.”

The jingle of the restaurant door announced the arrival of another patron. Ennis could not suppress a groan when he saw Monroe walking up to their table. It was hard enough facing Alma; the last thing he wanted was for her husband to join in.

“Everythin’ all right, Alma?” Monroe asked. “I thought you said you were only gonna be five minutes.”

“Change a plans, honey,” she said. “I’m gonna stay a bit longer. Why don’tcha head home, Ennis will give me a ride back.”

“But Alma…” Monroe did not seem to like this one bit, but he was not an articulate sort of man. “You ‘n your ex-husband, together in public? I ain’t so sure--”

“Go home, Monroe,” she said, more firmly now. “Me ‘n Ennis are talkin’, ‘n you’re interruptin’. If it’s supper you’re worried about, there’s leftovers in the fridge ‘n you know how ta use the stove. Don’t let Tommy stay up too late, ‘n make sure he brushes his teeth before bed.”

Monroe eventually saw no other option but to do as he was told. Ennis could have kissed Alma in gratitude, but settled for a muttered ‘thanks’.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” she said coolly, crossing her arms. “You ain’t gettin’ off this easy. I been waitin’ sixteen years for you ta man up ‘n confess, ever since I saw that-- that _man_ kissin’ my husband right by our front door. You think you had me fooled all that time, Ennis? You ain’t that clever. I wanna hear the truth, all of it, ‘n I wanna know what’s so goddamn special about Jack Twist. He done destroyed my family, so he better be worth the trouble.”

The waitress who brought Ennis’s steak must have thought them an odd couple-- the sullen pregnant lady and the crestfallen cowboy who had just found out that his shameful secret of sixteen years hadn’t been a secret after all. “Everythin’ all right over here?” she asked.

“I changed my mind,” Alma told her. “I’ll have the grilled chicken ‘n a green salad. ‘n What the hell, I’ll have one glass a white wine. I have a feelin’ I’m gonna need somethin’ a little stronger ‘n soda.”

***

Jack Twist was not nineteen anymore. He was approaching the big four-o, and he had never been more keenly aware of that fact than he was on this crisp December afternoon, puffing and wheezing like an asthmatic seal on a suburban sidewalk in Amarillo, Texas. He had treated his body badly for years, and he was now paying the price for his poor lifestyle choices.

“So this is what you do for fun, Doc?” he asked between gasps, keeping his head between his knees as he fought for breath.

“As often as I can, yes.” Next to Jack, Dr. Frolander was jogging in place to stay warm. “Try to keep moving, Jack. Don’t let your muscles cool down.”

“Christ.” Jack stood up, clutching his sides. “My lungs are burnin’.”

“That’s because they are in shock, as is the rest of your body. You’ve trained it to be lazy and unhealthy, so yes, exercise will hurt at first. But you can push through that, Jack. Mind over matter.”

“Fuck you.” Jack grinned as he said it. “If I didn’t like ya so much, Doc, I’d take off these ridiculous sneakers ‘n toss ‘em in the first dumpster I saw. ‘n Then I’d light a cigarette just ta piss you off.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Dr. Frolander smiled. “Because you’re not changing your life for me, or for anyone else; you’re doing it for yourself, and that is why you will be successful at it.”

Jack and the doctor had stayed in touch after Jack was released from the hospital, speaking on the telephone once or twice a week. Today Jack had gone back to the hospital for his final check-up, and the X-ray had confirmed that his arm fracture had healed well. For reasons he could not remember now, Jack had agreed to go jogging with the doctor afterwards, looking like a fool in sweat pants from the hospital gift shop and brand new sneakers that pinched at the toes. His body ached all over and he felt as if he had aged ten years in the last thirty minutes. Why anyone would willingly do this for a hobby was a complete mystery to him.

“Come on,” Dr. Frolander said, “my house is a couple of blocks from here. If you run all the way there without stopping, I’ll call it a good first attempt and make us a fresh pot of coffee.”

Jack’s face brightened at this. “Magic words, Doc. You got yourself a deal.”

Dr. Frolander lived on Pinehurst Drive, a broad and friendly-looking street in one of the city’s more respectable areas. School was just out, and the neighborhood kids were out and about on their bicycles, skateboards and roller skates. Some of them seemed to know Dr. Frolander and greeted him as they went by. It was the kind of street where a well-to-do gay couple could easily fly under the radar, as long as they kept their lawn perfectly manicured and didn’t throw extravagant parties.

“Here we are,” Dr. Frolander said, indicating a traditional red brick house with a deep yard in front. A fire-engine red 1953 Corvette was parked in the driveway. “I see that Jeff is home. That there is his toy, in case you were wondering. I am so embarrassed by that thing, but Jeff loves it more than he does his mother, and that is saying something.”

“Are you kiddin’?” Jack was staring at the shiny sports car with open mouth. “That ain’t no toy, that’s a national treasure. I’d spend my last dime ta have me one a those babies!”

Dr. Frolander raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You Americans all have gasoline in your veins instead of blood. Come, we’ll go round the back. Jeff will be thrilled to meet another Corvette fanatic. And if you really impress him, he may just take you for a spin later.”

Jack grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “Doc,” he said solemnly, “I’d happily stand on my head ‘n sing the anthem backwards if that would get me within two feet a that red lil beauty. No lie!”

Two dogs were waiting by the back door when Jack and Dr. Frolander got there: a black labrador mix and a smooth fox terrier, wagging their tails in greeting. “You got dogs,” Jack said, not sure why that surprised him.

Dr. Frolander nodded. “I grew up with dogs, but if I were a single man, I wouldn’t be able to keep them. Doctors work long and irregular shifts and don’t make for very good pet owners.” He preceded Jack into the house. “Jeff is an architect, so he works from home a lot.”

Jack got down to the floor to pet both dogs, because he had a fondness for all things canine. “I always wanted a dog, but Lureen was dead set against it. But as soon as I find a new place with some land, I’m gettin’ one. Ennis don’t get no say in that.”

“Is Ennis still in Wyoming?”

Jack looked up self-consciously, only now realizing what he had just said. “Yeah. God, I just gave myself away big time, didn’t I? I told ‘im I wouldn’t get my hopes up, but…”

“But they are up.”

“You bet they are.” Jack sighed, then smiled when the labrador with the grey muzzle licked his face. “Aw, thanks, ol’ gal.”

“I see Millie likes you already.” Dr. Frolander put his keys on the kitchen counter. “Jeff! I brought a guest.”

From somewhere inside the house came the response, “I’ll be there in a sec.”

Dr. Frolander switched on the coffee machine and took a banana from the fruit bowl. “Have some fruit, Jack. Running makes hungry.”

Jack was looking around in awe. Thanks to the Newsome fortune, he and Lureen had been able to live quite comfortably, but the doctor’s house was of a whole different category. The downstairs was very tastefully furnished and decorated, there were art prints on the walls and books, books everywhere. It was the house of an educated couple with great taste, and Jack caught himself thinking gleefully of Lureen’s daddy, who would be turning such a lovely shade of eggplant if he knew that a couple of queers could afford to live like this. That vintage Corvette alone would have made his eyes pop out of their sockets.

Jack wandered to the dining area to look at the photo collage mounted to the wall. They were all pictures of the doctor and an attractive dark-haired man, portrayed in various stages of their lives. He pointed at a black-and-white picture of the pair that appeared to have been taken near the sea. “Nice glasses, Doc.”

The doctor smiled. “That model was actually very much in style back then. The picture was taken during our first vacation together, in ’64.”

Jack sighed wistfully as he looked at all those pictures and the smiling faces in them. “I’m so freakin’ jealous, Doc, like you wouldn’t believe. Ennis ‘n I coulda had all that time together too. Coulda had twenty Christmases by now ‘n made some sweet memories. But Ennis was too scared ‘n I… I let ‘im dictate all the rules. I shoulda drawn the line a long time ago, but I was so scared a losing that man altogether. Still am.”

“For what it’s worth, Jack, I think you did a brave thing, the right thing. I hope Ennis comes around, I really do, but if he doesn’t, at least you can walk away with your head held high. Twenty years of living a lie is more than any human being should have to go through.”

Jack’s eye fell on various technical sketches and drawings on the table. “What’re these?”

“Mmm?” The doctor, who was filling the coffee machine, glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, those are blueprints for the house we’re building in Sweden.”

“You’re movin’ back there?”

“In about ten years, if we’re lucky. We have bought some land near Stockholm, but it’s all in the planning phase still. We’ve talked with several contractors but Jeff didn’t like any of them. He’s a control freak of the worst kind.”

“I heard that.” The man who walked into the room was a little older and a little greyer than the one in the pictures, but still attractive. He was smartly dressed in corduroy slacks and a navy blue pullover. Smiling, he extended a hand to Jack. “Hey, you must be Jack. Good to finally meet you in person. Berndt has been talking a blue streak about you.”

“I was gonna say the same thing.” Jack grinned. “Don’t worry, it was all praise.”

“I should hope so.” Jeff walked into the kitchen and put his hand on the small of his partner’s back, kissing him on the lips. “Hey.”

“Hey. You want coffee?”

“Sure, I’ll have some.” Jeff reached up to take three cups from the shelf, winking at Jack. “I have to say, B, he doesn’t look like much of a cowboy to me.”

Jack had felt a strange little pull near his midriff when he saw the simple little kiss the two men exchanged. He had often kissed Lureen like that, casual, almost thoughtless, like a habit. Never Ennis, though; with Ennis, kissing had never been allowed to become a habit. To see these two behaving so freely and comfortably in their own kitchen filled him with envy and longing.

“That’s ‘cos I ain’t wearin’ my hat,” he said in response to the jest, “’n my horse is parked outside.”

Jeff laughed, and Dr. Frolander said, “Jack was just admiring the Corvette. I believe the words ‘national treasure’ came up, so I had to bring him in and introduce you two, though I’ll probably regret it.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows. “You like sports cars, Jack?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Who doesn’t, indeed.” Jeff glanced meaningfully at the doctor and opened a drawer, tossing a key at Jack. “Come on Jack, let’s see if you got what it takes. That kitten doesn’t purr for just anyone.”

Jack nearly fainted on the spot. “But… didn’t the Doc tell ya I almost got myself killed in a DUI crash six weeks ago?”

“Yes, he told me.” Jeff nodded at Jack. “But you look stone cold sober to me now. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but…” Jack glanced apologetically at the doctor, who smiled.

“Don’t worry, Jack. I more or less expected this would happen. Go pluck the rewards of sobriety. I’ll keep the coffee warm until you boys are done playing.”


	13. Cable

Jack slept in on Christmas morning, for the first time in at least eighteen years. Normally, he and Lureen would have attended church early and gone to the Newsomes for coffee afterwards, but being divorced meant that he was free to spend the holidays on his own terms. This was pure luxury, one he felt he had earned. He finally got up around 10 AM and took a long, hot shower, just because he could. Afterwards, he spent quite a long time in front of the bathroom mirror, shaving, clipping his nails and using tweezers to pull a few unwanted grey hairs from his eyebrows. He had always been somewhat vain - more so than Ennis, in any case - but in his line of work, looking presentable was key. On the way to the kitchen, he paused to cross out the day's date on the wall calendar.

This was his little morning ritual. He had already bought a calendar for the year 1984 and circled one date in red: February 18th. The deadline. They were at the halfway point, and Ennis had made good on some of his promises. He had had his conversation with Alma, and oh miracle of miracles, he had called every week to check in. On the other hand, there were still a thousand miles between them, so in that respect nothing had changed. Jack's patience was being tested.

He made coffee and toast and switched on the telly to watch the morning news, mostly for the weather report. At the end of the broadcast the anchorman wished the viewers a merry Christmas. Jack lazily flipped the channels for a minute or two before switching off the TV. With his cup of coffee in hand, he walked over to his record collection and started browsing the Christmas section. He had just made his pick - _Ella Wishes You a Swinging Christmas -_ and pressed 'play' when the phone rang.

"You have a collect call from Riverton, Wyoming," a female operator announced. "Do you wish to accept?"

Jack grinned like a fool at hearing these magic words so unexpectedly. "You bet, ma'am, and a merry Christmas to you."

After a beat of silence, the woman chuckled. "Merry Christmas to you too, sir."

 _Click_. "Ho-ho-ho," Jack boomed into the receiver, "who is this?"

"It's Ennis," came the familiar voice on the other end. "Were you expectin' any other calls from Riverton?"

"Well, I wasn't expectin' any calls from you, that's for sure," Jack said. "It ain't Wednesday, friend."

"I know, but... well, I just wanted ta say merry Christmas, I guess, and ta say thanks for the card."

"You're welcome." Jack grinned. "I was kinda hopin' I'd get one from you, too."

Ennis harrumphed. "You know I ain't much of a writer. Callin' works better for me. What's up with you?"

"Nothin' much. I'm just chillin' at home, listenin' to some Ella Fitzgerald. You?"

"Pretty much the same. Chillin', drinkin' coffee. I'm goin' to Alma's later, ta see the girls."

"Family time, eh? Sounds good. I'm seein' Bobby today too." Jack made himself comfortable on the couch. "How've things been with Alma lately?"

"Not too bad. She... she still ain't my biggest fan, a course, but somethin's changed since we had that talk. It's like... she respects me more now. Weird, huh?"

Jack smiled. "That's good, Ennis. Does Monroe know, too?"

"Yeah, Alma told 'im." A pause, then a chuckle. "I can tell he tries ta act normal, but he tries too hard, you know? He gets all chipper 'n nervous when I'm around, pretendin' we're the best a buddies, but he don't wanna be within two feet a me. He useta be one a those touchy-feely guys, but now... nothin'."

"Why is that?"

"I dunno. Probly thinks bein' queer is infectious or somethin'. Last week I made the mistake a sittin' down on the couch next to him. Man got up faster 'n you can say 'Texas'."

"Did Alma say anythin'?"

"Nah. But she looked pretty embarrassed."

Jack tucked the phone under his chin as he poured a second cup of coffee. Monroe's reaction was probably the best they could expect from a straight Wyoming man, and he was glad that Ennis seemed to be taking it in his stride. "How 'bout the girls? You talk to them yet?"

"No." Here, Ennis hesitated audibly. "I keep puttin' it off, Jack. I'm scared as hell they're gonna take it badly. There could be tears, or worse. What if they don't wanna know me no more?"

"I'm sure that ain't gonna happen." Jack sighed. "But I understand why you're scared, Ennis."

"You do?"

"Sure. I ain't exactly lookin' forward ta tellin' Bobby either. But you gotta believe that your kids love ya enough ta handle the truth." Jack fell silent, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling where a spider was making a web. The place needed a paint job pretty badly. "Hey, I got an idea. Let's make a pact."

"What kind a pact?"

"Well, you told Alma, so I reckon I owe you one. I'll tell Bobby, before the end a the year. If that goes well, tellin' the girls won't be quite as scary for ya."

"And if it don't? Go well?"

"We'll cross that bridge if 'n when we hafta. Deal?"

"Yeah, okay. Deal." A pause. "Hey, Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I really miss ya."

A warm rush of pleasure came over Jack, as it always did when Ennis said something affectionate. "I miss you too, Ennis. Maybe next year we'll be spendin' Christmas together, huh? Wouldn't that be somethin'?"

"Sure would." Ennis cleared his throat. "How's sobriety treatin' ya?"

"Oh, it's the best." Jack smiled. "I've never felt better. My head is clear, 'n I even lost a few pounds, how's that?" He patted his stomach. "How 'bout you? Have you started smokin' again?"

"Nope, I'm stayin' strong," Ennis said. "If we're gonna have that sweet life, I wanna live long enough ta enjoy it. 'n You wanna know somethin' else? I never knew how much money I was spendin' on those damn cigarettes. I ain't Rockefeller by a long shot, but I got a lot more cash in my pocket these days. So I went out 'n got cable. Watchin' TV helps take my mind off the cravins. Plus I finally got a telephone in the trailer."

"Congrats, cowboy. So you're callin' from home now?"

"Yep. I got all the time in the world." A few moments of silence. "I wish you were here, Jack."

Jack smiled. He could not believe that this was Ennis - uncommunicative, surly Ennis - but he wasn't complaining. "What would you do if I was?"

"I dunno." Jack could almost _hear_ Ennis blushing through the telephone line. "You know, the usual."

"What's that?" Jack smiled even more broadly. "Come on, Ennis. You can tell me."

"Aw, Jack, quit it. You know I ain't no good at these things."

Jack decided to try a different approach. "Where are you right now?"

"I dunno. In my recliner, just sittin'."

"Okay. What're you wearin'?"

"Fuck, nothin' special. Shirt, old pair a jeans. Why?"

"I'm picturin' it." Jack shifted on the couch to get into an even more comfortable position. "I'm wearin' a white T-shirt and blue boxers. I just got out a the shower, so my hair is still wet."

"You're still in your jammies? You're such a lazy bum, Twist."

Jack laughed. "You're missin' the point here, Ennis. Okay, hang on... Guess what I'm doin' right now?"

"What?"

"I'm rubbin' myself through my boxers." Jack moved his hand back and forth across his crotch, the pressure rapidly mounting. "But I'm imaginin' that it's you that's doin' it. Don't you ever touch yourself thinkin' a me?"

Ennis cleared his throat. "Yeah. I do that a lot."

"Tell me. How do you get yourself goin'? I wanna know."

"Sometimes... I think a that time in the cabin. You know, when I was sleepin' in the recliner 'n you came out a the shower."

"What did I do after I came out a the shower?" Jack put his hand inside his boxers. "Jog my memory."

"You sat on the floor in front a me 'n uh... sucked me off."

"Oh yeah. It's startin' ta come back to me." Even as he stroked his swollen cock, Jack was aware of the absurdity of the situation-- here he was on Christmas morning, with the phone in one hand and his prick in the other, while Ella Fitzgerald caroled in the background. _Come on it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you. Giddy-up, giddy-up, giddy-up let's go_... It was definitely a first. At the same time, the newness and the spontaneity of it were exciting.

"Well," he said in his best bedroom voice, "if you 'n I lived under the same roof, I could do stuff like that every day, cowboy. You just mull over that thought for a while."

"I do. I am," Ennis growled. There was some rustling on his end of the line, followed by a thud and a muffled curse.

"What's goin' on?"

"Nothin'," Ennis muttered. "I knocked somethin' over. You still touchin' yerself?"

"Most definitely. How 'bout you? I ain't doin' this by myself, am I?"

"Naw, I'm kinda doin' it too. I feel stupid, though. You ever done this before?"

"No," Jack said truthfully. He lifted his hips off the couch briefly to slide down his boxers and intensified his strokes. This definitely beat church and coffee with the in-laws. "You don't hafta talk, Ennis, but don't put down the receiver. I wanna hear ya breathin'."

"Okay, Jack. Keep doin' what you're doin'. I'm right here."

Jack bit his lip. Fuck, he was getting really turned on here. He closed his eyes and for a few moments, Ennis wasn't three states away but there on that couch with him, stroking his cock and fondling his balls with those work-callused hands. Jack briefly grazed his ass with the tip of his middle finger, but the lube was in the bathroom and he did not want to interrupt the proceedings to get up and fetch it. No matter, he was getting plenty riled up as it was. What was it about this grumpy, mumbling cowboy that had gotten so under his skin?

As a kid, Jack had never been told about the birds and the bees. The only thing his god-fearing mother had ever told him about sex was that it came into play after marriage and that it had something to do with how babies were made. But by the time puberty hit, Jack was experimenting like any normal young teen, first by himself and later with girls. He'd had his first real kiss in his school's parking lot when he was thirteen. A few weeks later, he won first prize in his age bracket at the rodeo and a busty girl named Missy let him get to second base. A year later, they ran into each other again at the same event. This time he didn't win, but she still let him finger her for a few minutes behind the hotdog stand. He enjoyed these illicit encounters to a certain extent, but as he got older, it became more and more obvious that he was simply not as girl crazy as the other riders in the circuit. He tried to fit in, to joke about tits and cunts like the other guys, but the more he tried, the more he felt that he was putting on a charade.

Gradually, the women in his fantasies were replaced by men. By this time he had barely figured out the technicalities of heterosexual intercourse, so the idea of two men having sex together was even more of a riddle, but the air of mystery and taboo that surrounded the subject only made him more curious. In the privacy of his mind, he gave his thoughts and desires free rein, and found that they all revolved around men's bodies. Broad shoulders, narrow hips and muscled forearms-- those were the things that caught his eye and filled his mind with feverish images. The rodeo is a confusing place for a young gay man, but once Jack learned to accept that those feelings weren't going anywhere, he felt like a calf in green pastures. He learned to observe from under the brim of his hat, looking at his fellow competitors instead of at the country belles. He was careful, at least he thought he was, but one year something strange had happened. He had been preparing for his second ride of the day when a man approached him. He was one of the older guys in the circuit, no younger than 35, and he went by the name 'The Drifter' because he traveled from rodeo to rodeo and had no home that anyone knew of. He was one of the veterans, someone all the rookies looked up to, including Jack. One day he hoped to be on par with the likes of The Drifter, and have a cool nickname to boot.

The Drifter nodded at him. Out of the arena, he was always chewing tobacco, and he had one big scar on his jaw where no hair would grow. "Good luck out there, kid. Them bulls is feisty today."

"Thanks!" Jack tried to play it cool, but deep down he was completely starstruck. "Your ride yesterday was out a this world, man. You stuck to that bull like a tick to a dog."

The older rider looked around before leaning in a little closer. "Listen, kid. I been watchin' ya around here, 'n what I seen got me worried. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen." The Drifter smiled wistfully. "Yeah, I remember bein' your age. I was a lot like you, kid. Ambitious, eager, soakin' it all up. You love the rodeo, I can tell. Which is why you gotta be more careful, son. You gotta be more careful or the rodeo will spit you out like an old piece a gum. It's a hard world 'n you gotta play the game by the rules. D'you get my drift? Ride the bulls well 'n keep yer head down, then you'll go far. But don't give 'em no reason ta suspect anythin', 'cos you'll be out on yer ass sooner 'n the bull can throw ya."

Jack had grown pale. The Drifter spoke in riddles, but Jack understood every word. He was getting a crystal clear warning from someone who seemed to have a great deal of experience in these matters. Could it be that he was not alone? Were there others in the circuit like him, hiding in plain sight?

"I didn't think I was bein' that obvious," he stammered.

"I think you're OK for now," The Drifter said, "but if you don't rein it in, people'll start noticin' sooner or later, 'n you don't want that, trust me. Keep those big blues a yours in check 'n watch out for the clowns. They know all the gossip 'n they'll tattle on any rider they got a beef with. Don't get on the wrong side a the clowns, kid, 'cos they can make the rodeo hell on earth for ya."

Jack didn't know what to say. If The Drifter was right, he would really have to watch himself from now on. The rodeo was his life-- he did not want to make any enemies here. "I'm Jack," he said, holding out a hand.

The Drifter sized Jack up for a moment or two before shaking his hand. "Ted," he said gruffly.

In that moment, Jack experienced a feeling that was relatively new to him: kinship. At the ranch, growing up, he had often felt alone, and his father had told him over and over again that he was a waste of a space. Yet this complete stranger had taken the time to help him, perhaps because he saw something in Jack that reminded him of himself.

Ted acknowledged him with a small nod. "I'll see ya around then, Jack. Stay out a trouble."

They had never spoken again after that. A few years later, The Drifter broke his shoulder in the arena and retired from the rodeo. The guy was a legend, not only for being a great rider, but for being one of the few queers who played the game successfully. For those reasons he was Jack's idol.

Jack was a few weeks shy of nineteen when he met Ennis-- quiet, lanky, hard-working Ennis with the sad brown eyes and freckled nose. God, but he had fallen for that one hard. It was on Brokeback that the faceless, imagined lover of Jack's secret fantasies became flesh and blood; because despite Ennis's suspicions, Jack was technically still a virgin when he grabbed Ennis's hand that one night and put it on his cock.

How could he have known then what they were starting? How could he have known that they would still be here twenty years later, still trying to recapture that charmed time on the mountain, the days of youth and near-carelessness?

Jack pumped faster, arching back into the cushions as the pressure in his balls became unbearable. He was in the home stretch, and he looked up just in time to see his cock twitch and release several spurts of thick white fluid. Most of it landed on his chest and stomach, staining his T-shirt. He groaned with satisfaction and squeezed until every last drop was spilt, just like Ennis would have done, smiling into the telephone. "Well, friend, it's a good thing you can't see me right now, 'cos I made a big ol' mess over here."

Instead of a reply, he heard muffled grunting on the other side, followed by loud creaking and then silence. "Ennis? You still there?"

More rustling noises. "Goddammit Jack, the stuff you're makin' me do in my old age."

Jack grinned, elated that Ennis had joined this strange but sexy experiment. Maybe there really was hope for them.

 _I love you_. He almost said it. He almost crossed that line. Instead he said softly, "Merry Christmas, Ennis."

Maybe it was his imagination, but Jack could swear he heard Ennis swallowing heavily before replying. "Merry Christmas to you too, bud."

***

A few days later, Jack found himself sitting in his favorite booth at the local diner, nursing a cup of coffee the waitress had put in front of him a few minutes earlier. It was a good brew, but today he really could have used a shot of liquid courage with it. The holidays were hard for a recovering alcoholic, but Jack knew that if he fell off the wagon now, he would be letting a whole lot of people down. Bobby. Ennis. Doc Frolander. His sponsor. He wasn't prepared for the responsibility of disappointing them, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let his addiction take control of his life again.

At a few minutes past twelve, Jack saw a familiar Dodge Ramcharger pulling up to the curb, and he watched with a mildly disapproving smile as his son got out of the car. At only seventeen, Bobby had a far nicer car than Jack had had at that age. Or at nineteen. Or even at twenty-five. But then, Jack hadn't had the Newsomes for his grandparents. Bobby spotted Jack through the window and smiled, tipping his hat. Jack nodded back and downed his coffee with one flick of the wrist.

Today was the day of truth. Jack had asked Bobby to join him here under the guise of a father-son lunch, but in reality, Bobby was about to find out that everything he thought he knew about his dad was a lie. Jack could only hope that he would still have a son after today, but truth be told, he had no idea how Bobby would react. Trying to shake off his fear, he got up from his seat and welcomed Bobby with a hug, holding him a little longer than he usually did. _It could be the last time he lets me do this._

"Hey, Pops. What's up?" Bobby sat down and took off his hat, nonchalantly running his fingers through his gel-slicked hair. At his age, it just wouldn't do to be seen in public with an unflattering hairdo; although Jack had to wonder if perhaps he had passed on his vain streak.

"Glad you could make it, Bobby. I went ahead 'n ordered burgers for both of us. Betty'll be bringin' em over soon."

"Sounds good. I'm starvin'." Bobby threw his father an inquisitive, measuring look. "Everythin' OK? You look a bit skittish, Pop."

"I'm doin' fine. A bit nervous, is all. I got somethin' important ta tell ya."

"Sounds ominous." Bobby frowned. "Shit, you didn't start drinkin' again, did you?"

"No, Bobby, it's got nothin' ta do with that. Let's just wait for our orders ta arrive." Jack forced himself to smile. What a strange thing it was to see a child grow up before your very eyes. Bobby was almost taller than him now, he drove his own car and shaved himself like any man. Soon he would be moving away to go to college and one day he would probably bring a girl home for Jack and Lureen to meet. _I wonder if he'll be tellin' his girlfriends about his faggot father._

"Nice try, Dad. C'mon, just tell me already."

Jack released a long, shaky breath. "Okay, but before I start, I just wantcha ta know that I love ya no matter what, 'n that'll never change. Promise me you'll remember that."

"Jesus, this does sound serious." Bobby's expression was one of growing alarm. "Are you dyin'?"

Despite everything, Jack laughed. "No, Bobby, it ain't as bad as all that. Yer old man's as fit as a fiddle these days."

"Well then what is it?"

Jack had prepared himself for this conversation as best he could, but now that the moment was here, he found he could recall none of the phrases he had so carefully constructed beforehand. He would have to do some killer improv here. "You're seventeen now, Bobby, so I reckon you're old enough ta hear what I gotta say. You may not like it, you may be angry with me, 'n that's okay. I just hope you're willin' ta listen 'n keep an open mind. That's all I ask."

"God, Dad, you're killin' me here. Just get on with it already."

"Okay." Jack sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "I know I ain't told you a whole lot about my childhood, Bobby, 'n that's because it ain't a pretty story. My dad 'n I was always at each other's throats, 'n my poor mama was caught in the middle. The rodeo was my only means of escape, so I rode those bulls whenever I could. I never made it to the big league, but at least I was doin' somethin' I enjoyed. I was just one a the boys out there, you know? At least for a while, 'cos when I was just about your age, I started realizin' that somethin' about me was different. The young fellas I hung out with, they was all talkin' 'bout girls, braggin' 'bout their conquests 'n whatnot. I'm sure boys in high school nowadays ain't much different. Anyways, I always felt like I was laggin' behind, like I was the runt a the group, 'cos I wasn't gettin' a whole lot of action."

Bobby shifted in his seat. "This is awkward, Dad. Where are you goin' with this?"

"Please lemme finish, Bobby. At first I chalked it up ta bein' shy 'round girls, but after a while I realized that I just wasn't all that innerested in chasin' down the females. I wasn't connectin' with 'em in that way." He cleared his throat and studied his hands on the surface of the table. "I guess... what I discovered is that I was attracted to other guys."

Bobby blinked slowly a few times, his lips parted and his brows knitted into a frown. It was a look Jack remembered often seeing on his son's face when he was doing physics homework or solving a difficult equation. And what Jack had just said clearly wasn't adding up in Bobby' mind. "What?"

Jack took a breath, forcing himself to be blunt. "I'm queer, Bobby. Light on my feet, gay, a poof, whatever name you wanna call it. I'm sorry, I know this ain't the kind a thing a young man wants ta hear from his dad, but it's the truth."

Bobby looked at Jack long and hard, hopefully almost, as if waiting for him to crack and start laughing. _Just kiddin', son!_ When it didn't happen, he grew pale. "What?" he said again. "No. How can you be...? That makes no sense. You 'n mom were married for eighteen years."

Jack nodded sadly. "I married your momma 'cos I wanted a shot at bein' a regular Joe, at havin' a family. 'n I'll never regret it, 'cos your momma gave me you, 'n I wouldn't change that for anythin'. But it don't change the fact that I am who I am. Bein' queer is for life."

"Stop sayin' that word!" Bobby raised his voice suddenly, shaking his head in stubborn denial. "You ain't one a those people. They're _sissies_. You're a freakin' cowboy! You used to ride bulls, for Christ's sake."

Jack pulled up his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "I don't know what ta tell ya, Bobby. I know there's many queers posin' as straight men, 'cos people get beat up for this kind a stuff, or worse. There's a lot a hate, a lot a ignorance 'bout it, so a lot a people like me end up takin' the same route I did. Gettin' married, havin' kids, tryin' ta fit in."

Bobby had turned from pale to greenish. "I feel sick, I can't listen to this no more." He got up and stumbled out of the restaurant, leaving behind his hat. Jack watched him go, feeling gutted.

_Well, what did you expect? Kid just found out everythin' he grew up believin' is a sham. All boys want a superhero for a dad, or a rock star at least. Poor Bobby got stuck with me.  
_

A few minutes after Bobby had stormed out, Betty brought the hamburgers. "Is your son comin' back, Jack?"

"I don't think so, Betty." Jack tried to give her a smile, but he was on the verge of sobbing pathetically into her apron. "He's upset with me."

"Oh, honey." She gave his shoulder an encouraging rub. "It'll be okay. Teenagers blow up all the time, it don't mean nothin'. I'll take the plate back 'n keep it warm for 'im, okay? Maybe he'll come back once he's cooled off."

"Okay. Thanks, Betty."

Over the next twenty minutes, Jack managed to eat three French fries and one tomato slice. The burger sat on his plate untouched as Jack kept looking out the window, hoping he would see Bobby coming down the street. The Dodge Ramcharger was still parked out front. Eventually he could keep up the façade no longer and went to the gents', where he had a quiet cry in one of the cubicles. Perhaps it was a cliché, but Jack had spent most of his life trying to compensate for the things he had missed out on in his childhood: love, respect, acceptance, everything his father, his primary role model, had refused to give him. He had searched for a place to belong, someone to tell him he was wanted. A few times, he had thought he had found it: in the rodeo, on Brokeback and later in Childress. He was like a puppy looking for love, and time and time again, he was kicked out into the street. By all rights he should be used to it by now, but Bobby... deep down he had held out some hope that his son would stick by him.

Once he stopped bawling and wiped the snot from his face, Jack returned to the dining area and got a shock: Bobby was back. He was sitting at the same spot as before, picking at the burger Betty must have put in front of him while Jack was gone. Jack tried to keep a calm demeanor as he approached the booth, but he was trembling like a reed. "Hey, Bobby. Glad you decided ta come back."

"Yeah." Bobby looked embarrassed; he wouldn't meet Jack's eyes. "I'm sorry for runnin' out like that, but you really blindsided me with this one, Pops. I had to be by myself for a bit. But I'm ready to listen now."

"Good." Jack sat down. He was so relieved that he could have hugged the boy right then and there, but he had enough common sense left to suppress that urge.

"First off, I got a few questions." Bobby took a breath, as if bracing himself. "Does ma know? Is this why you 'n her got divorced?"

"No," Jack said. "Your momma's got no idea. I'm plannin' on tellin' her soon. We divorced 'cos we had grown apart, simple as that. We still care 'bout each other, but our marriage wasn't the world's greatest success."

Bobby nodded briefly. "Is it why you started drinkin'?"

Jack hesitated. "I dunno, Bobby. Try livin' a lie for twenty years, hidin' 'n deceiving every day. It's hard, it wears ya down. Sooner or later you start lookin' for things ta dull the pain, ta make it bearable, but booze don't solve nothin', it only muddles the water. Your ma is right, I been a bad example to ya, 'n I'm more sorry 'n I can say."

Bobby bit his lip. "I been stupid too, Dad. Ma, grandpa, all these people at church were makin' you out to be some fuck-up, some weak loser who couldn't stay off the sauce, 'n I never stopped to wonder _why_ you were drinkin'. I had no idea you were so unhappy."

"It wasn't all bad, Bobby. 'n Those folks at church weren't all wrong, either. I made some poor choices in my life 'n I done some bad things. I won't go into the details, but I owe your ma 'n some other folks a big apology."

"I don't envy you one bit, Dad." Despite everything, Bobby gave a somewhat nervous chuckle. "Mom's gonna flip a lid when she finds out."

Jack grimaced. "I'm used to it. Your ma's quite the personality, Bobby, but that's part of why I married her in the first place. I'm sorry we couldn't make it work for your sake."

Bobby waited a few moments before responding, studying Jack from across the table. "Dad... it's okay," he finally said. "I know you tried. The things you just told me... It's a bit of a shock, sure, but it don't change nothin' if that's what you thought. I still love ya no matter what."

It was a gloomy December day, but Jack could have sworn that the sun started shining at that very moment. _Oh, here come the waterworks again!_ "I can't tell ya how glad I am ta hear that, Bobby. I love you too."

"God, Dad, there's no need to start cryin' on me." With an embarrassed look, Bobby focused his attention on eating his burger, giving Jack a chance to wipe his eyes discreetly and compose himself. "Hey, did you know that grandpa's been naggin' me to change my last name to Newsome?"

Jack gritted his teeth. He knew his soon-to-be ex-employer would stop at nothing to make Jack's life miserable, but this came out of left field. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He's plannin' ta leave you the Newsome imperium. He don't want his legacy tainted by the name Twist. Are you gonna do it?"

"A course not! I like my name just fine as it is. 'n I told grandpa that, too. I'm a Twist 'n proud of it." Bobby saw Jack's fearful expression and shook his head reassuringly. "Don't worry, Pop. Grandpa can rant 'till he's blue in the face. You're still cool." He glanced at his watch. "Hang on, I'm poppin' outside for a sec to fill the meter. I'll be back in a jiffy."

Betty must have been lurking nearby, because as soon as the door fell shut behind Bobby, she appeared beside Jack. "Everything OK, sweetie?"

Jack looked at her, beaming like a kid in Santa's toy factory. "How 'bout that, huh? My son thinks his old man is cool."


End file.
